


Future So Bright

by CheekyBrunette



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abandonment, Alcoholism, Basically Niall is no good at art but he joins art club to hang out with zayn anyway, Child Abuse, Divorce, Pining, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Verbal Abuse, and all the boys are best friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:30:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 64,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1233391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheekyBrunette/pseuds/CheekyBrunette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts when Zayn is eight: the fighting, the drinking. And then all of a sudden his mom is gone, his dad hates him, and he's pretty sure he's in love with his best friend. Unfortunately for Zayn, he has only known love to break into pieces, and Niall is the one thing that he can't live with out. </p><p>Each chapter is a year in Zayn's life, spanning from when he is eight to eighteen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so just so you know preemptively, I did not keep Patricia and Yaser as Zayn's parents because I don't have any problems with either of them, and it made me uncomfortable to put them in such a negative light. Cause like... Aisha and Naveed... they're gonna suck, and like... Tricia and Yaser don't even a little, you know? So please just deal with me on that, aha.

Zayn was eight years old the first time he saw his parents fighting.

Or, okay, well, he had seen them have their little spats before. Sometimes they argued over what movie they wanted to watch after he went to sleep, and sometimes they got heated while discussing who would do the dishes. While those types of rows were getting more frequent, it wasn't anything unusual. It didn't disturb Zayn, and if he mentioned it to Niall, or Louis, or Harry, or Liam they would probably know just what he was talking about.

However, Zayn had never seen them fight like this. _Never._ He didn't even know mommies and daddies _could_ get so nasty; he thought that was just for stupid kids on the playground and the bad guys on Power Rangers. Parents were supposed to be mature, not aggressive.

It was around noon on a Saturday, and Zayn had just sat down to a bowl of macaroni and cheese. Being eight meant getting a big, daddy-sized bowl of noodles instead of a little kid one, but it also meant that most of the orange cheese sauce ended up on his face rather than in his mouth. (Zayn was still kind of a messy eater, but at least he was better than Harry, who needed someone to pick pasta out of his hair every time they had spaghetti.)

Zayn's mom was in the living room, folding laundry, when she swore. It was a little surprising -Zayn wasn't used to hearing such language- but it wasn't as surprising as what happened next. The woman stood up with an exasperated sigh and went to the bottom of the stairs, shaking a pair of his dad's pants over the banister. " _Naveed_ …?!" she called, scowling when his daddy didn't answer. " _Naveed_. Get the _fuck_ down here, do you see this?" Zayn's mom yelled up to the master bedroom.

Zayn squirmed in his seat at the table, just able to hear his father's muffled shout back. "What do you want, Aisha? I'm busy!"

Uh-oh. Zayn knows that tone. That was the one his dad used when he was done being patient for the day. If Zayn were his mom, he would probably stop talking to him and just let it go until later because when his dad used _that_ voice, it meant he was very close to getting angry.

"Busy doing _what_? Watching TV? I can hear it from down here! Get off your ass, and come look at what you did to these pants!" she shouted. A door slammed open upstairs and Zayn's dad appeared on the steps, his face hardened in anger.

"What? Aisha, they're _pants_ ," his dad quips, like the whole situation was idiotic, and she shoved them into his hands.

Zayn slumped back against his chair, wishing he could disappear. His mom was using all _kinds_ of bad words. She had been a bit snappy at him all day, but she hadn't been so angry before. Now she just seemed so, so _mad_.

"No, look at the pockets. You left a whole fucking pack of gum in them and now they're ruined in this globby, shitty mess," she snapped. His dad instantly glowered, looking at his mom as if she had killed his pet dog or ran over his baby blanket with a lawn mower (which would be especially sad because baby blankets were private, and you wouldn't be able to cry about it to anyone or they would make fun of you, like Louis did when Zayn brought his to sleep away camp).

"Why didn't you _check the pockets_ before you _put them into the machine?_ " his dad questioned, and there's a steely quality to his words that Zayn doesn't like. He doesn't like it one bit.

"You're a _grown man_ , Naveed, you can _check your own pockets_. I do so much for this family, I work all day in this fucking house, and you can't be bothered to take your _shit_ out of your _pants_ , like it's _my job_ to take care of you. I take care _of Zayn_ , that is _enough_ , stop being such a child," his mother complained.

And then it was World War III.

Zayn's dad started _screaming_ , and his mother raised her voice right back at him. Zayn heard more curse words in that one conversation than he ever had in his entire life. It was terrifying and scary, and it came out of nowhere; one second he was eating lunch and the next he was watching his parents go to war.

Zayn forgot he was supposed to be eating; he was so absorbed in watching the first of what would be many blows to his parents' marriage. His Kraft mac and cheese slowly started to turn dark and glue together just like it always did when it sat out and still for too long. It was okay, though. He didn't want it anymore.

Instead of eating, Zayn slipped off his chair to hid beneath the kitchen table. He watched his parents yell in each other's faces from between chair legs and willed himself not to cry. Everybody got in fights sometimes. Once he even yelled at Niall, and Niall was Zayn's best friend in the entire world.

Eventually, Zayn's mom threw the pair of ruined trousers into his dad's chest, forcing him back a bit, and stomped upstairs, absolutely furious. His dad screamed obscenities up after her as she climbed the steps before throwing his pants to the ground like a frustrated toddler. He stormed into the kitchen, threw open the refrigerator door, and grabbed himself a chilled bottle of beer.

"Daddy?" Zayn spoke up weakly, and his father seemed to realise he was there for the first time. He didn't look happy.

" _What_ , Zayn? And what are you doing under the table? Pick yourself up and go to your room," he ordered, and Zayn nodded, scampering off to his bedroom. It wasn't the response he had wanted.

He had wanted a kiss on the cheek and to be told things were okay and that mommy and daddy were all right and happy, but that's not what happened, and now Zayn wasn't sure what was going on. His dad hadn't even _hugged_ him, and Zayn could use a bit of a snuggle more than anything else at the moment.

Zayn dug out his baby blanket from under the covers at the foot of his bed and held it close. That hadn't been fun. That hadn't been fun at _all._

* * *

"Louis, Louis! Pass it here, pass it here!" Harry yelped, jumping up and down across the playground and making grabby hands for the Frisbee they were playing with. Harry always begged for someone to toss to him, even when it wasn't his turn. Zayn has a feeling he'll get it this time. Louis always did whatever Harry asked.

As if on cue, Louis sent a questioning glance towards Liam, despite the tangled mess of hair covering his eyes. (Louis never let his mom or _anybody_ give him a comb, even when Zayn asked nicely.)

Liam just shrugged his shoulders, officially giving his turn to catch the Frisbee to Harry, and a bright smile split across Louis's face. "Okay, Hazza! Here!" he yelped, tossing it towards the other boy. Louis had the shortest arms of all of them, even though he was the oldest, but he could still throw a Frisbee better than anyone else could.

Harry lunged for the flying disc and missed, tumbling to the ground. Zayn was worried until Niall positively _erupted_ with laughter at his side, and by then he's laughing too, while Liam and Louis rushed to a scraped up Harry's side.

It was one of the last days of summer before they all had to go back to school. Zayn was going to be in third grade with a brand new teacher and a brand new room. It was a bit nerve-wracking to say the least, but Liam kept saying that it would still be the same playground, and they would all still be on the same bus, and they would still be the same best friends in the whole world, and all of those constants made Zayn feel a bit better.

So many things in his life were starting to feel terminable. His mom and dad hadn't been happy together for ages now. He remembered when Louis's parents got divorced with startling clarity, even though he had only been in kindergarten at the time. He remembered Louis crying a lot and his mom coming over to talk to Zayn's mom all the time. He also remembered that Louis used to be in a grade above his, but after having such a rough year, Louis had to do first grade again, this time with Zayn at his side.

It wasn't so bad, cause then they met Liam, and Niall, and Harry, but if Zayn had to do third grade again while his friends moved up to fourth, he would be all alone.

But whatever. He was trying not to think about that now. Summer was nearly over, and they were letting it go out with a bang. All of their parents had driven them to the park for a picnic and a play date together. It was nice to get out of the house and away from all the fighting for a little bit. He always had fun with his friends, and today was no exception, what with Niall laughing in his ear.

However, while Zayn was having a great time, Harry was most definitely not. Tears poured from his eyes as blood poured down his scratched knee. "Harry, don't cry. Harry, don't cry. Harry, don't cry," Louis repeated over and over, stress rendering him repetitive.

"I'll go get your mom," Liam decided, running off towards the pavilion housing all of their parents, and Zayn followed Niall's lead as the blonde went over to Harry and started tickling his armpits.

"St-st-ssssst- _stop!"_ Harry squealed. The curly haired boy was squirming in the grass, tears still rolling down his cheeks but now from laughter instead of pain. Mrs Styles was there in a flash, though, cooing as she saw the gash on his leg and easily pulling the smiling, joyful Niall off of the slightly less miserable Harry. She lifted Niall and put him to the side, and Zayn is amazed by either how strong Harry's mom was or how light Niall was, he wasn't sure.

"Oh, no! My poor little baby! Let's get you all bandaged up!" she promised a woeful little Harry. It was clearly more of a struggle to lift her son up than it was Niall -the blonde was a bit scrawny for his age- and Louis getting under her feet and tripping her up as he fretted over her son wasn't helping in the slightest.

Zayn watched Niall as Niall watched them go back to the picnic tables, where Liam was sat in his mom's lap. "You wanna go see if Harry is okay?" he asked, and Niall turned back to look at him with the same smile he'd been wearing all day still on his face.

"Nah. I wanna keep playing. You wanna go on the monkey bars? I bet I can do them faster than you can," he said, crossing his eyes goofily at him.

"Sure, race you there!" Zayn replied, tearing off across the grass with Niall hot on his heels. He wished he never had to go to school so he could keep playing in the park with Niall forever. Zayn needed a bit of fun in his life, and he was going to miss all this freedom when it was gone. School wasn't going to be so great.

Fortunately, he had some good mates to get him through it all.

* * *

Zayn waited anxiously at the bus stop. He kept crossing one foot over the opposite foot again and again as he squirmed in place. All the yelling at home was making him quite nervous and fretful, and third grade just seemed like such a big deal, and such a scary thing, and such a bad time that Zayn was struggling to breathe a little bit while he anticipated his bus

All too soon, the big yellow vehicle appeared down the street and screeched to a stop at his corner. Zayn really, really, _really_ didn't want to go to school. He _really_ didn't want to get on this bus. His mom usually held his hand before sending him off, but now she was gone, and Zayn was alone.

"Zayn! C'mon! I saved a spot for you!" Niall yelped with his head out the window and a sunshiny smile on his face. Zayn's heart settled a little bit at the sound of one of his best friends calling out to him, and all of a sudden it wasn't so hard to gather up enough courage to step on the school bus. "Sit here, Zayn! Sit here, sit here!" Niall demanded, only to be shushed by the rule-following Liam.

"Niall, we're supposed to use our inside voices, 'member?" Liam questioned from the seat behind him as Zayn threw himself on the bench, his legs and arms brushing with Niall's.

"Oh, right, sorry!" Niall apologised. His voice was just as loud as before. Zayn couldn't hold back a giggle, especially when Louis started snickering across the aisle from him. Liam looked a bit disgruntled, but it wasn't long before Harry boarded the bus -his curly hair flopping all over and a backpack with a nose, mouth, eyes, and ears like a kitten donning his shoulders- and he could put Liam back in a right mood.

"You have Mrs Nancy for your teacher right, Zayn?" Louis asked, and Zayn nodded.

"Oh, wait, Zayn, you too? That makes three of us, then!" Liam managed to exclaim despite the way Harry was smothering him. The younger boy had planted himself in his lap and was now practically attacking him with hugs. (Harry was unusually snuggly, especially when one of them seemed a little down or frustrated, and Zayn appreciated all of his cuddles, even when Niall had better ones to give out.)

"I have Mrs Kearny," Niall said with a pout, and Harry made a surprised gasp.

"Don't be sad, Niall, I have Mrs. Kearny, too!" he yelped, all of a sudden crawling over the bus seat from his spot in Liam's lap. A stray sneaker kicked Liam in the face, while Niall laughed as Harry slithered between him and the window.

"Stay in your seat!" the bus driver yelled from the front, and Harry's ear quirked up in attention, his shoes still in the air by Niall's head while his hair brushed against the sticky floor.

"Haz, you're crazy," Louis said, sticking out his tongue, to which Harry quickly reciprocated. Zayn took in a deep breath.

Maybe school would be okay. He could get away from home, and all his classes would be with two of his four best friends. That wasn't so bad. It would be okay. Zayn was positive that things would be okay.

* * *

Third grade, as it turns out, is about as okay as Zayn figured it would be, once he got over his nerves. Mrs Nancy was really nice, which was lucky because from what Niall and Harry keep saying, Mrs Kearny was really, unbearably mean.

Zayn especially likes how many pictures he gets to colour this year. Mrs Nancy says drawing things out and colour coding everything is the best way to learn. Zayn quite agrees. He likes getting to pull out his fancy pack of magic markers for every assignment. Mrs Nancy says he is a very good drawer, too, which only encourages Zayn to scribble out more and more pictures at school and at home, and he eventually decides that art makes him happy and he really likes it.

It's a big thing for Zayn to realise because not a lot of things had been making him feel all that good recently. In fact, almost everything but his friends and colouring put him in a bad mood, though he wasn't sure why.

He's not exactly grumpy, more like sad.

"I don't think I'm very good at this," Niall frowned, glaring at the lump of clay on the table in front of him. Zayn hummed, etching out the top rim of his bowl and rubbing a bit of slip between the layers.

Niall and Zayn both chose art as their special elective -Liam, Harry, and Louis had all picked choir- and this week they were making little pottery bowls out of long snakes of clay. They were supposed to coil their worm-like strips into a bowl shape and scratch up the connecting pieces before putting in a bit of slip -like glue- to hold it together. Zayn was very nearly finished. He had focused very hard to make a tiny, curvy vase shape, and he hadn't even looked up to see what Niall was doing.

He glances up at Niall's work and immediately starts laughing. "I don't think you're very good either," Zayn snorted. He wasn't exactly sure what Niall had been trying for, but it ended up as a blob on his square of newspaper.

Niall's nose crinkled up. "How did you even _make_ that? It's all…" Niall gestured vaguely in about the same curvy shape that Zayn's vase was in. "You made it go out and in and every which way," he complained, and Zayn just shrugged, his tiny hands now smoothing over the edges of his finished piece.

"Dunno. I like clay," he answered, and Niall didn't respond, just watched him work.

"I miss you during math, and reading, and stuff," he spoke up eventually, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. Zayn bit his lip. He missed Niall, too. It was the first year they weren't in the same class, and Zayn felt weirdly separated from the blonde. He had never shared a teacher with all four of his friends at once, so he should be used to feeling a bit of a hole in his heart during his lessons, but Niall being in a different class left him feeling more empty than ever before.

"I miss you, too. I hafta read _Frog and Toad_ with Louis, but he doesn't make the same voice for Toad as you do. You're the best Toad," Zayn assured him, moving away his masterpiece to start fixing Niall's.

"Mhm," Niall nodded, seemingly weirdly nervous. "And you're the best Frog," he promised. There's a pause for a beat or so -Zayn had quickly gotten caught up in his creative mind-set as he righted Niall's bowl- until the younger boy piped up again. "I asked mammy, and she says you can come over after school today, if you want," he offered, scratching his forehead and getting bits of clay stuck in his eyebrow. Both his and Zayn's hands were covered in grey.

"Yes!" Zayn yelped a little too quickly. He really didn't want to have to go home. He _hated_ going home. That one fight over cleaning out pants pockets had opened the floodgates at Zayn's house, and now no one was ever happy at home. It was terrible.

Niall didn't seem to notice how overenthusiastic he was, however, and merely smiled at him, bouncing in his seat a little bit. "Yay! Okay! We can do lots of reading! I just got _Flat Stanley_ from the library, and also some of those weird boxcar kid books you like? The mysteries? But also, wait, I don't like reading, so maybe let's just play Power Rangers. Unless you wanna read. I know you like to read," Niall babbled, and Zayn wrinkled his nose in thought.

"I think we should do both. Can we do both?" he asked. Niall nodded encouragingly.

"Yes! We'll do both. And it's Tuesday, which means mammy is baking cookies, so we can have those, too," the blonde beamed. Niall and Harry were the only two of Zayn's little group who still called their moms 'mommy'. Or, in Niall's case, 'mammy'. Sometimes Louis teased them for it and said they shouldn't do that if they wanted to be grown ups, but Zayn didn't think anything was wrong with it. He just thought that sometimes Louis forgot how much bigger he was than everyone else, mostly.

"I like cookies," Zayn said, putting the finishing touches on Niall's resurrected bowl. "Also, finished! Now you can paint next week!" he exclaimed, presenting the completed work to his friend, and Niall cheered.

"Whoooo! Sweet!" he shouted, earning a ' _shhhhh'_ from their art teacher and sending them into a fit of giggles. Niall was just _so loud_ all the time, but Zayn wouldn't have him any other way.

* * *

It was ten o'clock on a school night, but Zayn was still awake. It wasn't his fault, though. Not really, he just… he couldn't sleep with all the _yelling_.

His mom and dad were best at fighting when they thought Zayn was out of earshot. Mostly, his mom complained about all the work she had to do and how unappreciated she was, while his dad screamed back at her out of laziness and stubbornness. Sometimes, though, they fought about money or just… _stupid, stupid_ insults. Whatever the topic, it usually managed to creep through the floorboards from the kitchen and into Zayn's bedroom, no matter how many prayers he sent up to Allah that it would all stop.

Zayn didn't really understand praying. He didn't know much about mosques or religion or being Muslim outside of celebrating Eid Al-Fitr and Eid Al-Adha. He was pretty sure you called praying Sadat (Salat?) and you did it on your knees facing… facing something…

Okay, well maybe Zayn didn't know anything, but he still found himself kneeling on the floor and whispering desperate prayers about things that confused him.

He just wanted this all to stop. He wanted to have a happy home, like Harry, or Liam, or Niall, or even… even Louis cause at least all the fighting was over in his house…

Regardless, Zayn found himself slipping out from under his covers and getting on the floor with his baby blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He folded his hands and bowed his head like Niall, Harry, and Liam did at their dinner table, words quietly tumbling out of his mouth as he begged for something better.

* * *

Zayn watched -excitement growing in his eyes- as Liam sneakily bent down and started packing a snowball in his hands. "Who are you gonna throw it at?" he whispered, not wanting to call attention to him. Liam brought a finger to his lips and pointed at Louis, the other boy very seriously traipsing up the hill and through the snow with Harry and Niall trailing behind. They'd mentioned something about the best sled ride ever, but Liam had gotten snow all up his back after loosing control of his disk and Zayn had offered to stay behind with him as he sat at the bottom of the hill and felt sorry for himself.

"I'm gonna hit him when he comes down," Liam replied conspiringly, a bit of mischief flashing in his eyes. Liam had been getting more and more naughty, what with all the time he spent with Zayn and -mostly- Louis in class. Teachers still liked him, but Zayn had a feeling it wouldn't last much longer.

Zayn giggled at the thought of Louis getting snow all in his already messy hair. "Okay, okay! They're just about to come down!" Zayn yelped, excited, and Liam clamped a mitten over his mouth.

"Shhhh! He'll know!" Liam replied, before propping his sled up in the snow to work as a makeshift fort. Zayn quickly packed some snow around the base to hold it steady and ducked behind their newly made wall with him. They peeked out above the top of the disk, nothing but hats, earmuffs, and eyes visible to the boys at the top of the hill. The pair watched like hawks as the three boys squished themselves into their sled, Louis fortunately in front. "Almost…" Liam squeaked, obviously excited. "Almost…" he repeated as the trio set off down the hill.

"Now!" Zayn yelped just as Louis came into throwing distance, and Liam complied, his snowball soaring through the sky.

It splattered in a slushy mess right in the older boy's face.

"Ah!" Louis yelped, hands reaching up to his eyes instead of holding the rope of the sled. The string tumbled out of his lap, lodging itself underneath their sleigh, and catching the nose of it. Louis flew forward face first in the snow, and Harry and Niall -both considerably smaller than Louis- went soaring, landing on either side of him. Zayn leapt up and rushed over to him.

"Oh, no! Louis, are you okay? Did you die? Did we kill you?! We didn't mean to kill you!" Zayn exclaimed. He knelt by Louis's side while Liam, paralysed with fear, watched on with a rapidly paling face.

Louis shakily got up on his elbows. "That… was… _awesome!"_ Louis cheered, popping up with renewed enthusiasm. "Niall! Harry!" he called, the two drowsily waking up from the snow with ice clinging to their scarves and eyelashes. "We have to do that again, but this time you guys throw snowballs too! We'll take turns! Like a real action adventure!" Lou plotted, his eyes glimmering, when Liam barrelled into him, tackling him back down onto the ground.

"Don't _scare me_ like that!" Liam complained as Louis laughed beneath him.

A sense of relief washed over Zayn as he watched Liam and Louis wrestle and giggle while Niall and Harry constructed another fort on the opposite side of their sledding lane. Nobody was hurt, the sun was still high, and the snow would still be here for a good while longer. This was good and this was safe to the point where Zayn didn't even have to think about _how_ good or safe it was or what was to come. He could just _relax_ , finally relax.

Zayn tugged his hat on a little tighter over his ears and jumped on top of Liam and Louis. " _Both_ of you, don't scare me like that!" he demanded, squealing as the other two teamed up against him and near buried him.

Zayn barely even noticed when someone grabbed his arm and pulled him out from the pile, but somehow he was free from his attackers and Niall's cheery face was looking down at him. "I saved you!" he exclaimed, loud as ever with a smile overtaking his rosy cheeks.

"You did," Zayn replied slowly, a bit disoriented. "Thank you."

"You're welcome!" Niall answered. The smaller boy collapsed on top of him and stuck the wet thumb of his glove into his mouth, sucking the melted snow out of it. "I'm, like, the best superhero ever," he mused, making a sweeping gesture at the sky with his free hand, and Zayn hummed, watching the clouds and making up stories to go along with their shapes.

"This is the best day ever," Zayn decided, and it was. Niall was a heavy weight on his chest and the sounds of Liam, Louis, and Harry bickering over snowballs filled his ears. The snow made the world still, and Zayn… Zayn felt still too. Peaceful, though he couldn't quite comprehend it.

Maybe he just needed to spend more time with his friends -more time with Niall- and things would be okay.

* * *

"Zayn, what the _fuck is this_?" his dad screamed, gesturing to the wet floor. Zayn shrunk back a bit into his beach towel.

Third grade was officially wrapping up to a close, and the weather was starting to grow a bit warmer, which meant the neighbourhood pool had officially been opened. Louis's mom had offered to take him to the pool, and Zayn had agreed without asking his parents. (The house had been tense, and Zayn had just wanted to _leave_.) He had just gotten home, little body still wet and dripping with chlorine water, and the air conditioning in his house was freezing him to the bone. His soaked, squelching sneakers had tracked a puddle through the house, when his dad came across his watery trail.

"I dunno," Zayn answered nervously, hoping he could pin the blame on anything else but him. He didn't like how his dad was swearing at him. Normally he only cursed when he was talking to his mother. It only served to make Zayn feel all the more anxious and scared, when he already had been anxious and scared just to walk through his own front door.

"You're _lying_ , just look at you! You're soaking; where have you been?" his father demanded, and Zayn tightened his grip on his towel, pulling it a bit more closely around his scrawny shoulders.

"At the pool with Louis and his mom," he squeaked in response, figuring he was all but caught now. (He had been in trouble from the start of the conversation, but all hope was officially lost now. There was no weaselling out of this one.)

Anger flared over his father's face, eyes heating up, before the man set his jaw firm. He yanked the towel off of Zayn's shoulders and shoved it into his arms, knocking Zayn back a step. "You will clean the floor and then you will go to your room until your mother comes up to deal with you," his father informed him, nostrils flaring. The man stormed off and Zayn obediently got on his knees.

He sopped up his mess with his towel, unable to bite back tears. He didn't like being yelled at. He was very tired of yelling in general, and it sucked to be on the receiving end of his father's screaming as much as it sucked to hear it pounding through the walls when he hid in his room.

He finished mopping up the floor -artificial air mixed with wet skin making his teeth chatter- and submissively climbed the stairs to his bedroom. Zayn didn't like making his dad angry, so he always did what he asked. It was best to keep him happy. It was Zayn's _job_ to keep him happy; his mom certainly wasn't doing it.

He pulled on a sweatshirt, too young to think about how the chlorine would make it stink and too young to think about how long he would have to deal with it because his mom certainly didn't do laundry anymore, she was too tired of dealing with his dad not right-side-outing his clothes to bother with putting a load in. Zayn then threw himself on his bed and bit his lip to keep anyone from hearing him cry.

It was stupid. He was a big boy now, he was eight-years-old and everything, but here he was, crying over a stupid time out. (Or, okay… it was a little more than a time out, but still… Zayn wasn't proud of the way he was behaving.) It was just so hard not to sweat the small stuff, when the whole, big picture was such a horrible mess.

A wave of understanding washed over Zayn as he realised why Louis had such a hard time when his parents were fighting. At least Zayn's parents still wanted to _be_ together, Louis's had gone and split up. At least… Zayn figured his parents wanted to be together, they still slept in the same bed and Zayn remembered that Louis's hadn't. Louis used to cry about how he only had his mommy to go to when he had nightmares.

Zayn buried his head under his covers and bit back sobs. He just wanted so desperately for his parents to be okay, and he wanted so desperately for this part of his life to be over. Snot and tears soaked his already dirty sheets until it was late at night -his mom never came, probably because his dad had never told her- and Zayn was sticky with pool water and his bed was gross from crying.

He collected his sheets and trudged downstairs, stuffing his blankets and his swimsuit and sweatshirt all in the washing machine together and fiddled with the soap and buttons until it started whirring and doing stuff, which he figured meant good things. Zayn ran himself a bath, got into PJs, and then went to sit in the laundry room until the washer beeped.

He changed the wash over and fell asleep on the floor, tired and done with his life and everything in it already, despite the fact that he was just eight years old.

He was only _eight years old._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I hope you all enjoy! I will be getting faster, I am FINALLY out of school!

Zayn is nine years old when his dad loses his job.

The fighting between his parents had been miserable before, but at least it hadn't been _constant_. Back when his dad had was employed, Zayn hadn't _expected_ his father to get snappy with him after every argument he had with his mom, but now it was almost like a sealed deal. Each time his parents fought, Zayn got in trouble for something, and they fought nearly every single _day_.

Zayn was starting to get used to spending most afternoons in his room. Sometimes he chose to go up and shut the door as an escape, anticipating the yelling to come. Other times he was practically forced up there. His parents -namely his dad- usually chose to confine him to his bedroom when he did something wrong as an alternative to a time out. (Zayn was officially much too old for a "time out". He was practically _ten_. That meant he was very nearly in _double digits._ )

It wasn't all too bad, though. Zayn really liked drawing pictures, and he had all the right supplies up in his bedroom. He was going through crayons pretty fast, but his mom usually bought him a pack of 24 colours when he asked, despite their family's lowered income. Zayn liked the way each new box smelled when he opened them for the first time. He was starting to appreciate all the small comforts of life a little more, even though he didn't quite understand what was happening around him.

As the summer between third and fourth grade quickly passed, Zayn wallpapered his room with pictures. There wasn't much for him to do outside of colouring, really. But it was okay. Zayn was still okay.

* * *

Zayn watched as Niall threw a basketball up towards the net above the Horan's garage. The orange sphere clanged against the metal rim. Niall winced.

"That's an O," Zayn commented, but Niall's falling face made him quick to continue, "But I have an H-O-R and S, so don't worry. You're doing really good, much better than me and Harry. He's out already," Zayn said, pointing to the curly-haired lad. Harry was lying in a grumpy lump on the grass while Louis tried to tickle his nose with a dandelion. Harry merely swatted him away, upset with Louis, and the game, and maybe even the whole wide world.

However, his loss was Niall's gain, and the blonde's frown was quickly replaced with a smile. "You're right, I'm doing okay!" he agreed. Zayn nodded, choosing not to mention that Louis only had an 'H' and Liam didn't have any letters at all.

It was the last day of summer. Tradition _mandated_ that it be spent with the five of them together, and the boys had chosen to spend their time playing a round of Horse. Even Louis, who was somehow the worst speller despite his older age, could figure out the score and was enthusiastically taking his each and every turn.

Zayn liked basketball. He wasn't so good at it, but he liked it, and at least he was better than Harry. (Although, it wasn't hard to be better than Harry at sports. Zayn loved him, and therefore he loved everything about him, like he was sure he was supposed to, but Haz had the habit of tripping over his own two feet. It was hard for him to dribble, even, cause he had to stop watching his toes.) More importantly, however, Zayn liked his friends, so playing with them wasn't so bad.

"It's your turn, Liam!" Niall cheered, moving so Liam could take his spot once he returned with the ball. He had to run nearly halfway down the street to catch up with it after Niall's shot had sent it rolling away. Liam threw the basketball with all the technique of a professional. It went through the net with a _swish_.

Louis groaned from his spot squatting by Harry. " _Liam_. Sometimes I _hate_ you," he complained, obviously done with bothering Harry and moving on to bother Liam.

Liam glared. "Hey, that's not _nice_. If you don't like me winning, then you should _practice_ , not yell at me," he complained ever so reasonably. Liam had the annoying tendency of always being right about stuff. Louis only rolled his eyes at what Liam had to say, but Niall gasped, offended.

"Hey, _I'm_ winning this game! Pass me the rock!" he demanded, just like a sports star in a movie. Liam shook his head, running to retrieve the runaway basketball.

"It's not your turn, Niall, it's Zayn's. And he has to pick a new spot to throw from."

Zayn bit his lip as the ball was thrown his way. He didn't like when his friends fought. Even minor, unemotional conflicts like this one made him feel uncomfortable lately. It was just… too much. Zayn played outside with his friends to get a break from fighting, not be re-immersed in it.

He carefully moved around the driveway, trying to pick a good spot to toss from. Zayn was really, really good at shooting from the outside edge, right where the pavement met the Horan's front walk. It was his sweet spot. However, he knew Niall had trouble throwing from there, and his best shot was a right lay up.

Zayn tried a right lay-up of his own and failed miserably.

"Your turn, Louis," he called, but Louis had already gotten up and had the ball in his hands. He tried the shot Zayn had and missed again. He now had an 'H' and an 'O'. The scowl on his face proved he wasn't happy, but Zayn knew that once he could get back to abusing Harry -who was still moping miserably on the front lawn- Louis would feel much better.

Niall grabbed the basketball and chewed on the inside of his thumb for a bit, looking up at the hoop from the spot that Zayn had taken his shot on. "You can do it, Ni," Zayn prompted. Niall leaned back and tossed the ball up in the air. The second it left his hands, Zayn knew it was going in.

The swish of the hoop had Niall's hands going straight up into the air. "Yes! Put that in your juice box and suck it!" he cheered, undoubtedly quoting his older brother. Greg said that kind of stuff all the time. He was in _middle school_.

" _Niall James Horan, you watch your mouth!"_ called Mrs Horan from absolutely nowhere. Niall's mom was omnipresent in a way that all the other mothers were not. Niall's cheeks turned pink, and he deflated a little in shame.

"Sorry, Mom!" he yelled back through his house's open windows.

"You did really good, Niall!" Zayn complimented, trying to pick the positivity up a little bit. He wanted to keep things light and happy-hearted. He _needed_ that actually. He needed something nice and fun. Niall, for his part, didn't seem to notice anything was wrong, but still smiled at Zayn, helping him to relax a bit. One flash of those pearly whites could instantly put Zayn at ease.

However, Niall's smile wasn't something Zayn really let himself think too much about. He was nine, and Niall was his best friend, and girls had cooties, so he didn't have to worry much about them. The only thing he had to concern himself with was the fact that he had just earned himself the 'E' in Horse.

He was a loser, now, but that was okay so long as Niall was winning.

* * *

Fourth grade is essentially the same as third grade; it's just that all their classes are messed up. Zayn had Mr Prescott as a teacher with Louis and Harry, and Liam and Niall were in class with Mrs Romano. It's a little sad that they have to be split up again, but it's not as bad as last year because in fourth grade you get to switch classes for math.

Some kids get to be in the smart math class, other kids go in the dumb one, and then there are two classes for all the kids in between. Harry had always been really good at math, so he went to the smart class with Louis, who was ahead because he is older (just like with most things). Zayn and Niall were both pretty average at math and they got to sit next to each other in the same middle-level lessons. Liam, meanwhile, for all his rule following and paying attention, was _not_ very good at math at all, and he needed a lot of extra help. He was in the dumb class.

Liam did _not_ like the dumb class.

"Aw, c'mon, Liam. It's not that bad. Cheer up! I think the swings are open, you wanna do that? You're the best highest swinger I know!" Louis complimented, poking a sad Liam in the side while they all waited in the foursquare line. Louis was high-strung, a little ADD, very much all over the place, and generally annoying, but he could be sensitive and caring when he needed to be. Zayn liked him best when he was like this; he just didn't like how sad one of them needed to be to make it happen.

"I don't want to swing. I don't want to even play foursquare really," Liam admitted with a shrug before walking out of his place in line. Zayn, Louis, Harry, and Niall all shared a look before trudging after him.

"Liam, wait up!" Harry called, chasing after him when Liam started to walk a little too far away from the four of them and tackling him onto the ground once he stepped onto the grass. Harry clutched onto him. "It's okay that you are in the dumb class. I'm in the smart one, and I still think you're really clever! And all the teachers say there isn't really a stupid or special class anyway; they say that your class is just supposed to suit your needs. That's good! You're good!" Harry exclaimed, but the mentioning of "smart" vs. "dumb" only seemed to upset Liam that much more.

Niall plopped down next to the other boy in the grass. It was clearly his turn to take a crack at it. Niall rubbed up and down Liam's bare leg (it was still warm enough for shorts, and Liam's scrawny shins stuck out from his cargos). He let out a huff of a sigh. "You can take my spot in the medium class, LiLi. I don't mind," he offered, and Liam sniffled.

"I don't think it works like that," he replied dejectedly, and Niall nodded.

"No, I know, it's just… you could," he said, face screwed up. Liam didn't seem at all better. This wasn't exactly fair. He was one of the most hardworking people Zayn had ever met, and he always knew what to do whenever any one of them was in trouble. He was super smart, just not at math, but now Liam seemed to feel dumb at everything.

Zayn gulped when he realized four sets of eyes were on him. It was his turn. "I dunno… I don't like that you don't feel good, Liam. I hate how sad everything feels lately," he all but whimpered, a little caught up in all the melodrama. He was having trouble keeping up lately when it came to any type of conflict. He didn't know what was wrong with him; Zayn wasn't typically so emotional.

Louis let out a huff when Zayn didn't seem to help at all. "That's it. Liam, I didn't want to do this, but you've left me no choice," Louis said before near jumping on top of Liam and Harry and tickling the upset boy's stomach. Liam doubled over in laughter, and it wasn't long before all four of Zayn's best friends were in a massive tickle fight on the ground.

"You guys, you're gonna get in trouble, we're supposed to keep our hands to ourselves," Zayn said, stepping up as the voice of reason when Liam was otherwise occupied. However, someone's hand outstretched from the pile and pulled Zayn on top, not listening to what he had to say.

It was fun before the playground monitor came to break them up, but even if it hadn't been, at least Liam was smiling. Zayn did best when everyone around him was smiling.

* * *

"I swear to God, Naveed, if this keeps up, I'm out the door. I'm gone."

"Shut the fuck up, Aisha, if you're so concerned about money, then _you_ get a job, and quit _nagging_ me about it, already."

"And then what? _Then what_? I do _everything_ around here, and you just sit on your fat ass all day with your beer. You can't even be bothered to get up to get it, you keep the damn case on the _coffee table_ so you never have to leave the couch! This house would fall apart without me here!"

"Jesus, just stop _nagging_."

Zayn covered his ears as his parents' screaming match pounded through the kitchen ceiling and up through the floor of his bedroom. No matter what he did he could still hear his mom trying to prompt his father out of his lazy, sluggish fog and his dad telling her to piss off. He desperately grabbed his baby blanket and wrapped it over his head. He had to shut them out. He just _had_ to shut them out.

The purple bruises underneath Zayn's eyes proved how much the fighting at home had been driving him crazy. He couldn't sleep at all. Even when the house was silent, he was too anxious to go to bed. His teacher kept asking him if everything at home was all right, he was going through his day so exhausted, but he didn't know how to answer. This had been normal for Louis. Was it normal for him, too?

Zayn was just nine. He didn't understand. He didn't understand any of this. He didn't understand why it was suddenly so hard for him to be around the boys when they weren't happy or feeling well. He didn't understand why school seemed harder and why suddenly Niall was doing better on their math tests than he was. He didn't understand why it felt like it was just him on this big empty island in the middle of nowhere when he had the four best friends in the world.

Zayn kicked angrily at his sheets and waited desperately for the yelling to stop. Hopefully, it would be soon. Maybe he could sleep for a few hours before school started.

"It's like you don't even care anymore. You don't even care about _anything_."

"I used to care about the game I was watching, but you turned it off to scream at me, you fucked up woman. I got fired, give me a _break_."

"I gave you a break! And guess what? It's over! It's time for you to shape up and get a job, Naveed. Be the man of this household."

"I am the man of this household, and I'm telling you. If you're upset then _you_ start working."

"I fucking promise you, one day you'll wake up and I'm not going to be here."

* * *

Zayn's favourite class in the world, hands down, without a doubt was _definitely_ art class. He was getting really good at drawing, at least… better than all of the girls in his class. Plus, Niall was still taking art with him, even though he was absolutely terrible at it.

Zayn watched as Niall's short little fingers struggled to braid the three yellow pieces of yarn he had been given. It was fairy-tale week at school, and the whole class was currently making little Rapunzel pictures with real braids and bows and everything. Zayn didn't know how great he was with all these ribbons and all this tying, but he was certainly better than Niall.

"Do you want some help?" he asked, reaching out a hand for the paper. Niall just shook his head and stuck his tongue out as he tried to focus a little harder.

"No, I've got it," he promised, undoing a terrible knot he had made at the bottom of his strings. Zayn bit his lip. He wished he could just swoop in and save him from the mess he had made.

"You gotta put the outside over the inside, Ni," he told him, and Niall just looked at him like he was crazy.

"That's what I'm _doing_ ," he replied, furrowing his eyebrows together as his yarn just knotted further and further together. Zayn waited patiently for Niall to figure it all out, fiddling with his own completed braid and adjusting the bow at the end that kept all his hard work together. Niall eventually looked up at him, his fingers looped over with yellow strings. "Okay, maybe you could help now," he said, an overwhelmed look on his face, and Zayn laughed.

"Okay, hold on," he replied, untangling Niall first before successfully unknotting the ends of his half finished braid. He was just finishing it up, getting ready to tie a bow on the end, when their art teacher came over.

"Niall, it seems like yet again, Zayn is the one doing your project," she chided lightly. Niall shrunk sheepishly in his seat.

"I'm not good at braiding," he replied, and the art teacher merely shook her head. She opened her mouth to say something, but a crash on the other side of the room had her running away to clean up some other fourth grader's mess. Zayn finished up and looked over to Niall, who was squirming in his seat, trying to be patient.

"You want a blue bow or pink?" he asked, nudging the ribbons on the table towards Niall with his free hand. His other was too busy pinching his flawlessly done braid together. Practice makes perfect, and Niall's finished product had turned out a lot better than Zayn's.

Niall pressed his lips together in thought. "I think it has to be pink. I made her skirt with red, see?" he asked and pointed to the crudely coloured in dress of his colouring sheet. Zayn, for his part, nodded and tied on the bow very, _very_ carefully. He gave Niall back his picture when he was done, and the other boy yelped excitedly.

"She looks just like a real princess!" he cheered, fiddling with the woven yarn. Zayn blushed, scratching the back of his neck and ducking his head at the compliment. When he looked up, Niall was using the braid as a moustache -his picture flapping him in the face- and Zayn laughed.

"You're bein' crazy."

" _You're_ crazy."

"You're crazier!"

"You're craziest."

Zayn puffed a bit of hair out of his face, but he wasn't frustrated. A grin still splayed across his cheeks, and he reached a hand out for Niall's. The blonde instantly latched their fingers together, resting them on the table, and Zayn blushed for no reason, bending his head back down to finish scribbling in Rapunzel's skirt.

Zayn was really glad that Niall chose to take art class with him, even if he wasn't very good at it.

* * *

Harry always, always, _always_ had the best birthday parties. His mom always made sure everyone would have a good time, and she let Harry make the invite list by himself, meaning each party only included Liam, Zayn, Niall, and Louis. Because it was such a small group, they always got to do really amazing things.

This year, Mrs Styles was taking everybody to the aquarium to look at the fish. It was Harry's birthday, but somehow _Louis_ was the most excited. He bounced in his seat the whole way there and shook the whole car. However, while Louis's enthusiasm was tough to beat, all the boys were pretty eager.

Or, well… everyone but Niall, that is. Even though he was _finally_ nine just like all the other boys, he was still too short and light to ride without a booster seat. It was clearly very embarrassing, especially when Liam kept asking why he needed one even if he wasn't eight anymore. Luckily, as soon as they reached the aquarium, Niall seemed to perk up. "Are those penguins outside?" he asked, pointing to a tiny penguin enclosure at the very front of the aquarium. "Aren't they cold? It's freezin' out…" he commented, kicking his feet a bit over his booster. His legs didn't come near to reaching the floor.

"Penguins are made for the cold," Harry said factually, pressing his nose against the window for a better look as his mom parked. "Mommy, are we gonna get to see them?" he asked hopefully. His mom turned off the car and reached back to ruffle Harry's hair.

"Sure thing! You can look while I buy tickets!" she offered.

Mrs Styles threw on her hat and gloves to greet the cold February air. She turned off the child-lock she had set for the back of her van, and the boys started to filter out of the car as they zipped up their jackets. Niall and Harry got out first, but Louis, Zayn, and Liam all had to squish into the back seat on the way there, resulting in quite a few tangled limbs as they forced their way out of the minivan.

"Can we see the penguins now? Can we see them now?! Please now!" Louis begged, and a nod from Mrs Styles has Louis latching onto both Liam and Harry's hands, dragging them over to the penguin exhibit.

"Hold hands as you cross the street! Look both ways! Don't run in the parking lot!" Harry's mom called after them. Louis didn't look like he heard, but Harry clearly slowed down the whole lot, always one to listen to his mother. She sighed as she watched them make it to the birds, and turned back to Niall and Zayn. "Are you boys just as ready?" she asked. Zayn nodded, fiddling with the hat Harry had leant him and pulling it over his ears. All the other boy's moms had reminded them to bundle up, but Zayn had gotten ready on his own that morning.

Zayn and Niall joined their friends by the penguins. It took a very long time for Mrs Styles to wait through the line for tickets, but even though it was cold, no one minded. All the penguins were fun to watch, and Harry, Louis, Niall, Liam, and Zayn were all easily entertained when they were together.

"That one is you, Louis," Liam said, pointing to a penguin that was busy scratching it's bum with it's own beak. Louis made a disgruntled noise as the rest of the boys laughed.

"Well, _that_ one can be you, Liam," Louis sassed back, pointing at a penguin that was scratching _another_ bird's bum with it's own face. Liam wrinkled his nose.

Thankfully, before things got too quarrelsome, Harry's mom called them over and they got to go get their hands stamped as they walked into the aquarium.

"I got a hammerhead shark," Harry chirped, peering at it closely. All the boys' heads instantly whipped down to examine their own stamps and discover what they had gotten.

"I got an octopus!" Niall cheered, showing off.

"I have a seahorse," Zayn mused, earning himself a bumped shoulder from Louis. The other boy's nose was scrunched up unhappily.

"No fair, you're lucky, I have a crab," he complained.

"I have a _snail_ ," Liam moaned, finally speaking up. He looked terribly sad about it all, and all of the other boys couldn't help but laugh a little bit. A snail was probably the worst animal you could get on your hand! Fortunately for Liam, though, he wasn't the centre of attention for very long because as they had been talking, Mrs Styles had led them to the fish tanks.

From that point on, the boys hardly spoke to each other outside of 'ooo'-ing and 'aah'-ing. They were too busy poking their faces between grown-ups' waists and other kids' heads to see the tanks. It was crowded, but raw determination brought them right up against the glass to see every animal.

"I love turtles," Liam said as they reached the sea turtle tank. He was tearing up a bit as he looked in on the baby ones, obviously a bit overwhelmed. Zayn didn't say anything, just slung an arm around his shoulders.

They all spent a _very_ long time at the turtle tank.

Actually, there were quite a few tanks that they spent an exceptional amount of time at (or at least as long as their nine-year-old attention spans allowed them to). Louis became incredibly absorbed by the seahorses, especially the spikey ones. It was weird to see him so still and attentive for such a long time. Meanwhile, Harry seemed to fall in love with the jellyfish. Like… _every_ jellyfish. The aquarium featured eight different kinds of the gooey little creatures, and Harry had to pause at every single one.

Zayn and Niall, however, both really liked the shark tunnel. The second Zayn entered it, actually, he was one hundred per cent invested, eyes trained on the sharks all gliding above him. He bit his lip, unblinking until someone grabbed his leg.

"You gotta try lying down and watching," Niall said, holding onto Zayn's ankle. Blue waves danced across Niall's arms and legs, flittering across his face and pulsing over his nose. Zayn looked down at his body and found himself covered in the same light. He took his spot lying next to Niall and held his arms out in front of him, watching the shadows and highlights take over his limbs. Niall nudged him and pointed up at their watery ceiling. "You can count all their teeth like this," he said.

"You can," Zayn agreed, nodding. It was nice lying with Niall, even if hundreds of people had to walk over them to get through the tunnelled tank. It was also nice being away from his parents for a while. They were really starting to stress Zayn out. He couldn't handle being near them too much anymore; he couldn't handle being home. But now he was out with his friends, and that was nice. This all was nice.

"Ah! Zayn, Niall, don't lie on the ground, that's dirty!" Mrs Styles instructed when she caught sight of them. As Niall and Zayn stood up, she hurried them out of the tunnel, trying to keep all the boys moving. It was an abrupt end to the first, true sense of calm that Zayn had felt in awhile.

However, despite not lying together anymore, Zayn still was connected to Niall. One of the two had managed to tangle their hands together, octopus meeting seahorse due to the ink stamped onto their hands.

The rest of the birthday outing was spent touching sea cucumbers and petting stingrays. When it came time to go home, Zayn was _covered_ in fish water, but he didn't mind. It had been a great day, and those were few and far between for Zayn lately. Nothing could ruin it.

* * *

"Thank you very much, Mrs Payne," Zayn said, stretching his little arms as far as they could go to hold on to the big plastic bag the woman was giving him. Liam was just a bit bigger than Zayn was, so he could easily fit into all the older boy's hand-me-downs.

Lately, Zayn had been growing up bigger and bigger, while all his clothes had stayed the same size. Meanwhile, his dad still didn't have a job, and neither did his mom. She said they had to watch their money. Zayn didn't quite know what that meant, but he did know that he couldn't buy new clothes anymore; he had to get all of his shirts and pants from Liam.

"No problem, sweetheart. Just let me know anything I can do to help out, all right? I am so sorry your family is going through such a rough time," Liam's mom promised, not letting go of the bag filled up with clothes until she was sure that Zayn had a good grip on it.

"Thank you," Zayn replied. He felt incredibly uncomfortable, but he knew well enough to still use his manners. Mrs Payne gave him a kiss on the forehead and sent him off, and Zayn waddled back to his mom's car with his arms filled up with his new wardrobe. It couldn't have come any sooner, all of his pants showed his socks. His legs had gotten so long.

"Did you get everything?" his mom asked as he climbed into the car, stuffing his clothes between the seats.

"Mhm," Zayn hummed as an answer, a little too nervous to say too much around her. Lately his mother seemed so intimidating; it was hard to speak up when she was around.

"Good. That's good," she complimented, and Zayn's heart swelled up a bit with the little bit of praise she offered him. It wasn't that his mom was mean to him so much, but rather that she was too busy complaining about his father to pay him much attention. In fact, immediately after she paid him a compliment, she started back on the subject of his dad. "Your father, Zayn. He's a no good, lazy lump sometimes, I swear. If he would just _get a job_ , we wouldn't have to be begging for hand-outs," she complained, starting to drive and watching the road. It all only served to make Zayn feel very separated from her.

"Okay, mom," he replied, not sure what else to say. Zayn loved his dad, and he wasn't sure when or why his mom had stopped. Lately his brain seemed a little… muddled. He had been drinking a lot. But he was still Zayn's daddy, and he cared about him. His mom was supposed to, too. But she didn't.

"One of these days, I'll leave him and then he'll be sorry. He'll realise what he's done," she muttered under her breath, but Zayn could still hear.

He heard everything, and it was breaking his heart.


	3. Chapter 3

Zayn was ten when his dad first hit his mom.

Things had finally become routine at Zayn's house. Zayn knew what to expect when he came home, which was nice, even if it wasn't a pleasant life he was leading.

Every day he would come home from skate boarding or playing basketball with his friends, and his dad would be right where he left him: lying on his recliner with a beer bottle in hand. The TV was always blaring at Zayn's house, even when his dad had fallen asleep in front of it. He was a drunk, lazy, zoned out mess; the only thing that had changed over the course of the year had been the size of his beer belly. With no money for new clothes, Zayn's dad hardly ever attempted to squeeze himself into anything other than boxers and a t-shirt.

Zayn's mom worked two jobs, desperately trying to save some money instead of just spending it, which meant Zayn spent a lot of time home alone with his father. He didn't like it very much. Usually it meant running down from drawing in his room to fetch his dad more chips whenever the older man called. Zayn had learned to obey as quickly as he could to avoid any arguments.

He didn't think his mom had learned that lesson, however, because she _always_ said no to her husband and it _always_ caused problems.

Today, Zayn's mom had told his dad that cable TV wasn't an expense they could afford anymore. Zayn could hear his slurred yelling from upstairs in his room. Normally when his parents fought, Zayn would wrap himself up in his comforter and hide in his closet, but today was different. Today his parents just wouldn't stop, and not in their usual manner of not stopping. This was louder, this was longer, this was… different.

So instead of hiding in his room, Zayn padded down the stairs. He peeked his head around the banister, blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders and his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

His dad was just so _drunk_. Zayn didn't even quite understand what being drunk _meant_ yet. He knew it was bad. He knew that his dad sounded much different when he was under the influence. He knew he got angry more easily and more quickly. But he didn't know what he was supposed to expect when his dad started stumbling around and screaming. Zayn didn't know if he could trust him or not.

Apparently, he couldn't.

As the screaming match reached a high point, Zayn watched in terror as his father's arm whipped through the air. Whatever unintelligible argument his mother was trying to make was cut off with a _smack_. Her head whipped to the side. Tears rushed down Zayn's face, as his father just glared and stomped back to his recliner, turning the volume of the TV up until the sound of his mother crying was drowned out.

Zayn wished he had looked away, but he watched as his mother crumpled to her knees. Her hands reached up to cover the swelling red mark on her face, and she rocked back and forth for a bit before getting up and _running_ out of the room. She practically barreled up the stairs, and Zayn felt the swish of her skirt as she passed right by him. Unthinkingly, he reached his arms up at her like a toddler asking to be picked up. She didn't see, though. That was okay. Zayn didn't know what he wanted anyway.

Even though his parents weren't fighting anymore, Zayn went to his room and hid in his closet. Now it was more than just yelling that he needed to run away from.

* * *

Zayn was only ten, was the thing. There was only so much his little heart could take before it eventually gave out, and he ended up sobbing for the world to see. Fortunately, when Zayn finally fell apart, he was in good hands.

"Oh, Zayn, you're all scratched up," Niall commented after Zayn had fallen. They were all in the Horan's driveway, playing together like they always did on the day before school started. Things were different this year, though. While all the other boys could compare schedules, Zayn didn't even know what teacher he would have tomorrow; no one bothered to look it up for him.

He was filled with uncertainty. Nothing was going right, nobody was helping, he was absolutely _terrified_ to even just go home, and now _this_. A stupid scraped up knee.

Tears welled in his eyes before he could stop them, and embarrassingly enough, they started to stream down his cheeks. Niall yelped at the sight, alerting to the other boys that he was a crying, sniveling mess. Three sets of sneakers pounded on the pavement over to him.

"Oh, no, Zayn! Does it hurt real bad?" Harry asked, kneeling beside him the second he reached his side. Liam and Louis were only seconds behind, and Zayn felt suffocated with all the people hovering around him.

"No, no, it doesn't, it's just a scrape," he squeaked out. He was ten-years-old. He was way past the age of crying over scraped knees; he didn't even call his mom "mommy" anymore. He wasn't a baby; he was just… overwhelmed.

Louis bent over and grabbed his hand, trying to pull him up a bit. "C'mon, Zayn. Let's just walk it off."

Zayn ripped his arm out of Louis's grip, holding it close to his chest. "No, no, no, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm just… I'm just… Oh my _god_ ," he sobbed, one of his hands going to cover up his mouth as he started full out sobbing. Cries wracked through his whole body, and he stopped keeping track of his friends and what they were doing. He had to focus everything he had on just _breathing_.

"I'm getting my mom," he heard Niall say, though it was hard to pick out his voice over the sound of his own wheezing. It was impossible to get air in. Zayn's life was difficult at the moment, but he had never cried this hard about it. He hadn't cried this hard about anything before.

It was only another minute before Mrs. Horan was there, shooing away the other boys. She picked Zayn up without any warning, grunting a little as she hoisted up his seventy-pound body. He didn't stop crying as she carried him into the house. Meanwhile, Harry, Liam, Louis, and Niall all followed behind like ducklings after their mother. Mrs. Horan sat him on the edge of the counter top by the sink, cooing at him a little as she wet a paper towel and started to clean him up.

But Zayn didn't stop crying.

It felt like ll of a sudden, he was upset to the point where he couldn't register anything around him. Everything he'd been keeping in had bubbled to the surface with one slightly scratched knee and a drop of blood. Tears continued to stream down his face, even as Mrs. Horan called all of their moms and sent all the other boys home. Zayn wasn't surprised when his mom didn't answer. He hardly noticed when Liam, Louis, and Harry left; he only acknowledged the fact that Niall was still there, holding onto his hand with wide eyes.

When his friends went home, Mrs. Horan seemed to turn her attention back on him She picked him up again and moved him to the couch. Zayn found himself being set in her lap. As she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a hug, Zayn felt the last choked sob leave his body. He felt Niall's hand tangle into his shirt, and he let out a bit of a keening noise as he finally relaxed.

"There we go… Looks like someone needed a bit of a mam hug, didn't ya?" she asked, and Zayn nodded, not sure what else to do with himself. Mrs. Horan sat with him for a little while as he started to come back into himself for a little bit. Once he was more settled she sat him on the couch next to Niall –who had yet to leave Zayn, much less let go of him- and wrapped a blanket around both their shoulders. She kissed both of their heads. "You just share the covers, all right? I'll be back in a minute, I'm going to try to call your mom again, Zayn, and I'll make you boys some hot chocolate while I'm at it," she said.

Zayn made a bit of a strangled noise. It was hard to speak after crying so much. "It's summer," he pointed out weakly. Normally his mom only let him have hot chocolate in the winter. Mrs. Horan just winked, leaving him and Niall in the family room all by themselves.

Feeling uncomfortable, Zayn wrapped his half of the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Niall, for his part, seemed content to stare at his lap for a bit, which scared Zayn. He wasn't used to seeing his Nialler so quiet and still. Normally Niall was the light in his life, and at the moment he was kind of quiet. Fortunately, though, the blonde moved after a moment. Blue eyes met green, and Zayn held his breath.

"You were crying for a _really long time_ ," Niall emphasized. It was only then that Zayn saw the fear in the other boy's eyes. The younger boy squirmed in his seat a bit, tugging some of Zayn's half of the blanket away from him on accident. "Why were you so sad?" he asked. Zayn crinkled his nose.

"I just… Um… I don't know…" he trailed off, but Niall kept looking at him. Zayn took a deep breath. "Home isn't so good, Niall," he eventually said, voice quieter than he anticipated. The nine-year-old just looked at him, his face open and confused, but he didn't say anything. He just kept staring until his mom came back in.

"Okay, lads, two hands," she said as she passed them both mugs of hot chocolate. Mrs. Horan made the best hot chocolate because she used real milk instead of water with powder. Plus, she always made sure to put a big dollop of whipped cream on top. Zayn took a big sip. He burned the roof of his mouth, but it was worth it.

Mrs. Horan lowered herself onto the coffee table. She seemed about to speak, but Niall piped up first. "Mammy, can Zayn stay the night?" he asked. (He still said mammy, even though not even Zayn did that anymore.) Mrs. Horan smiled.

"I was just going to suggest that. Zayn, your mom doesn't seem to be picking up her phone, and I'm figuring she's got a lot going on at work, is that true?" she asked. Zayn nodded frantically. His mom was always out of the house, working. Niall's mom smiled at him gently. "Okay… Okay, well, how about we take care of you for the night, yeah? I think it might be good for you to be watched over a bit. Do you know why you were crying?" she asked him. Zayn shook his head no. He knew he was sad, but he didn't know why it came pouring out of him.

"Zayn says home isn't so good," Niall said, a desperate look on his face. He just wanted to help, it was clear, but Zayn couldn't help but blush. He felt his cheeks heat up as Mrs. Horan looked at him, her face softening. She reached out and ruffled his hair a bit.

"Then he can have a home with us this evening," she promised.

And she meant it too. Because Mrs. Horan took care of everything that night. She set Niall and Zayn up with a movie; she made sure he knew where he was going his first day of fifth grade. She scrounged up a back to school outfit for him from Niall's collection of new clothes, and she gave him one of Greg's old backpacks with some school supplies. They had lasagna and Caesar salad for dinner, and Mrs. Horan didn't let him get away without eating his vegetables. She even gave him and Niall ice cream Sundays for dessert and tucked them into bed.

Zayn felt shiny and new at the same time he felt like crying. He didn't want to have to bum off the Horans, he wanted his mom to be able to do all of the same things Niall's did. However, he wasn't complaining. Zayn ate up all the mom hugs and kisses Mrs. Horan had to offer him, and he leaned into every touch and smile that Niall threw his way.

It had just been a hard day, was all.

* * *

"Guys, you'll never believe it!" Louis yelped, rushing into the cafeteria. They were about two weeks into fifth grade, and Lou was already breaking the rules. You were supposed to sit at your class's table during lunch; so technically, Louis should have been sitting with Niall and Liam over at Mrs. Mellinger's table. However, instead of being in his assigned spot, he was jumping up and down by Zayn and Harry.

"Never believe what?" Harry asked, biting into his ham and cheese sandwich and making a face. Harry always seemed to be displeased about the ratio of ham to cheese in his lunches.

"Liam kissed a _girl!_ " Louis exclaimed, smiling brightly. Meanwhile, Harry started picking lunch meat out of his sandwich.

"Why'd he do that?" Zayn asked around a mouthful of Doritos. Louis stared at him for a second, eyebrows crinkled together. When he finally spoke, it was slow and patronizing, like he was talking to a toddler instead of his best friend.

"Because we're in fifth _grade,_ Zayn. That's what you _do_ ," he explained. Zayn just sucked cheedle off of his thumb. He was a little stunned, was all. He didn't know your last year of elementary school was when you had to start kissing the opposite gender.

Harry looked up from his lunch and peered over at Liam from across the cafeteria. "Who did he kiss?" the curly-haired lad asked, and Louis went from being slightly annoyed and sassy to over-excited all over again.

"Danielle! He did it real fast when we were getting our lunch boxes from our cubbies, and she and all her friends just started like… squealing, and then Mrs. Mellinger made everyone go back to their seats and be quiet," he practically squealed himself. Harry seemed to consider this for a moment before replying.

"Did he use tongue?" he asked, and Louis made a weird, hybrid groaning-slash-whining noise.

"Ew, Harry, don't be gross. He's only ten; that kind of stuff is for us eleven-year-olds," Louis replied, despite never having kissed a girl himself. Zayn frowned down at his lunch tray. All this kissing business seemed to be happening a little bit early. He'd always been told he'd like girls when he was older, but that hadn't seemed to happen yet. They were still just… girls to him.

Harry shrugged. "I dunno… I'd kind of like to kiss Caroline with tongue. Don't know how to do that, though… I just think she probably likes it," he said. Harry had a _huge_ crush on his babysitter, even though she was way older than him. That was another thing Zayn didn't really understand. Crushes. He didn't know why all his friends seemed to be so interested in other people.

Zayn's world was more limited than Harry's, or Louis's, or Liam's, or even Niall's. He felt close and comfortable with his four best mates, and those were the only people in his life he was interested in talking to. He didn't even like dealing with his mom or dad anymore, he just liked the lads, and that was it. It didn't make sense when Liam talked about what Danielle did that day, or when Harry discussed how funny Caroline was. Why did they care what they did? Who cared about other people? Zayn was content with just four great blokes in his life; he didn't understand the need for anyone else.

"Harry, I said _don't_ be gross, _stop_ ," Louis demanded. He never liked hearing Harry talk about girls, even though Louis was the only one who ever got really gross about it. Lou was older, and he had more… feelings when it came to ladies. Feelings Zayn didn't ever think he would have.

"But it's true," Harry frowned, and Zayn shook his head.

"Just leave it, Harry," he told him agreeing with Louis. He didn't like thinking about Harry kissing anyone. He was kind of curious about Liam though, and he craned his head towards the other table to catch a glimpse of the other boy. His face was bright red, and he was chattering excitedly with Niall who looked just as crimson. Niall blushed over everything. "I can't believe he kissed someone…" Zayn mused. Louis nodded emphatically.

"I know! Our little Liam is growing up!" Louis exclaimed, acting like he was far older than he really was. Louis seemed like he couldn't wait to grow up himself.

Lou seemed like he wanted to say more, but before he could, a lunch monitor had spotted him and had called him over to his table. Zayn and Harry both watched as he left before the curlier of the two spoke up. "I hope he doesn't get any recess taken away," he said, noticing the angry expression of the lunch monitor. Zayn shrugged.

"Yeah, me too… Harry, how do you know you like Caroline?" he asked suddenly, not sure why he was so interested.

Harry looked at him, blinking owlishly. "Oh, um… I dunno. She's pretty… she's funny… Mostly she's just a really cool babysitter," Harry admitted with a shrug. Zayn pressed his lips together as he considered what Harry said. Those seemed like normal reasons to like someone. Maybe Zayn was just a late bloomer… He hadn't lost his first tooth until second grade, after all.

Zayn wasn't sure whom he liked yet, but he had a feeling it would come. Zayn was only in elementary school; he had a long ways to go in terms of growing up. Hopefully he would feel similarly about someone in the future.

* * *

"Pizza!" Louis cheered when the doorbell rang, rushing to the front hallway to get first dibs on his slice with Niall hot on his heels. Zayn himself wasn't half as excited for pizza as the other boys were –his mom brought home pizza for practically every meal nowadays- but he _was_ pretty hungry.

It was a relief when Mrs. Tomlinson walked into the family room with a pepperoni and _most_ of a cheese pizza in her arms. (Niall somehow had managed to sneak a slice while Louis was made to wait like the rest of them.) "Eat up, boys!" she said, placing the boxes on the coffee table and leaving.

Tonight was one of the nights Zayn went to bed praying for: a _sleepover_. Finally, he could get out of his house for a night. He could get a proper night's rest. He could sleep surrounded by people he trusted instead of people who terrified him.

Zayn snapped out of his reverie when Liam asked him a question. "Zayn, do you want plain or pepperoni?" he question, and Zayn sat up a little bit.

"Plain, please," he asked, reaching out with grabby hands as Liam passed him his slice.

"How many am I allowed to have?" Niall asked. He took a seat next to Zayn, but he was hardly sitting, more like bouncing on his heels as he double fisted slices of pizza. Niall never seemed to stop moving. It seemed like everything he ate, he burned right off and then some.

Louis made a face at Niall. "Three at the very most, but _ew_ , Niall, that's a lot of pizza," he complained, still going through the typical eleven-year-old stage where everything was gross and he couldn't help but comment on it. Niall frowned.

"But I'm _hungry_ ," he complained.

"I'm _bored_ ," Harry groaned right back. Apparently his ennui was a much more serious ailment than Niall's hunger because he continued to whine about it, completely disregarding Niall. "I wanna _do_ something," he moaned. Harry all but melted facedown onto the floor, curls piling around him.

"You could clean the pizza sauce off your cheeks," Zayn offered, speaking up for a change. He'd found himself being a little quieter with his friends recently. It was harder for him to talk and feel comfortable, what with all the bad things happening at home. Mostly he just liked to sit back and absorb all the positive energy his friends seemed to have.

"What's the point? He'll just get messy a few minutes after," Niall teased, flinging himself on top of Harry. The younger boy let out a bit of an 'oof', which just made Niall laugh harder than he was before, and Zayn reached out to tickle the blonde's side, wanting some of that laughter to be directed his way.

"I'm suff'cating, I'm suff'cating!" Harry yelped from beneath the squirming Niall. Liam, the hero he was, grabbed onto one of Harry's hands and pulled him to safety, leaving Niall all to Zayn.

"Stop, stop! Hahaha, I'm _dying!"_ he squealed, and Zayn pulled away, grinning a bit. He had lost his smile, it seemed, but Niall usually could at least make him grin.

Louis stood up on the coffee table. "Right, this is getting too rambunctious for indoors," he declared. Louis was good at demanding attention. "Shove your pizza down, boys, we're going out to play man hunt in five minutes. No if, ands, or buts," he decided, earning a snicker from Harry. Louis sighed. "No, Harry, not _that_ kind of butt, you're so gross."

Liam raised his hand like he was in class. "What are the teams going to be?" he asked, knowing per usual, one side would have to have three and the other would have two. Louis put a finger to his mouth in thought, always one for dramatics.

"Liam, you and me on one team cause we're fastest. And then Niall is slow and gets lost, so he can be with Harry and Zayn," he said, evening out the teams like he usually did. Niall sort of slumped. For someone with so much energy, he really wasn't very fast, and Zayn knew that could be embarrassing for him sometimes. Zayn was actually a really fast runner, but no one quite knew how true that was because he was always going slower for Niall.

"You're on," Harry said excitedly, finally sitting up properly instead of moping against Liam.

"Like Donkey Kong," Liam replied, pushing Harry and laughing as he clumsily tipped over. Zayn just kept grinning. It was so relaxing to finally be in a place where he was safe and well cared for. If it were up to Zayn, he would never go home.

* * *

"I said _shut the fuck up,"_ Zayn's father all but screeched, and the sickeningly familiar sound of skin slapping skin echoed through the house. Zayn didn't know how or where his dad was hitting his mom, but he knew it was happening.

Life seemed to be falling apart at the seams for Zayn. He'd thought things were bad before, but now they were miserable. The screaming and the yelling were now usually accompanied by the stomach-churning sound of a fist pounding into flesh, and Zayn was so, so, so _scared_.

He was scared of his dad and what he could do. He was scared of his mom and how she didn't have the time or energy to care about him anymore. He was scared of his house, and how dirty his bathroom was, and how weedy the front lawn was. Zayn was only ten; he didn't know where to start when it came to fixing all of the disrepair.

But mostly he was scared to be so alone.

Zayn was too young to be truly self-aware, but he did notice how other people were starting to matter less and less. He was shyer than he used to be, and whenever he didn't have Harry, Louis, Liam, or Niall by his side, he found himself almost mute. He was drawing away from the world, and his parents were drifting away from him, too.

Speaking of his parents, Zayn was alarmed to hear his mother start screaming from downstairs. "Naveed! _Naveed!_ Stop, stop, stop, please stop!" she was shrieking, but it wasn't her usual angry yelling. Rather, it was panicked and desperate pleading. Zayn bolted down the steps, but froze on the landing when he saw what his father was doing.

The man had his fist tangled into the front of his mom's shirt. He was beating her, but more so than usual. His fist continued to wail over and over again into the same side of her face. His knuckles were bloody, and so was his mom, but he didn't show any sign of stopping. Half of her head was disfigured, swelling, and bruising.

"Stop, Naveed, _stop!"_

"Daddy!" Zayn yelped, rushing over to his father and pulling on his shirt. He felt like a four-year-old, not the bit strong tween he was supposed to be. His dad cast him a glance that seemed to stick, his eyes widening as he sobered up incredibly quickly. He looked to his wife and let go of her shirt, causing her to fall to the ground. He had been the only thing keeping her up.

His father knelt down by his injured mother, examining her face. "We need to call 911," he said decisively. "Zayn, get the phone." Zayn immediately rushed off and did as he was told, he had become so obedient, but he managed to catch a bit of his parents' conversation as he left the room.

" _You will tell no one it was me. Tell them whatever kind of lie you have to, but I will not have my name given or there will be consequences."_

Zayn rushed back in the room and passed the phone to his dad. He was crying as his father completed the emergency call, and he was crying when the EMTs carried his mother away in a stretcher. Things were getting worse and worse, but there didn't seem to be a way to stop any of it.

* * *

"I've decided that I like making rain sticks," Niall said, grabbing yet another wrapping paper tube. Their art class was smaller this year. In fifth grade, you were allowed to sign up for other electives, like cooking and safety patrol. You could also take acting classes –like Louis- or sign up to do the morning announcements. Art class had lost a lot of its members to the new selection of electives, but Niall and Zayn were still there, and that was what counted. Plus, there were more materials this way.

"I'm sorry, what?" Zayn asked, still painting the outside of his first tube. Zayn put more detail into his work than Niall.

"I like makin' these," the blond repeated. He grabbed one of his rain sticks with both hands and gave it a shake, listening to the noise the dried beans inside made. Zayn's eyes widened.

"Oh," he said, but he was hardly listening. Things had been tough again at home the night before, and soon he would have to go back to his house. Zayn had come to dread the end of the school day because he didn't want to have to go back to his parents.

Niall shot him a look, one eyebrow arched, and Zayn slumped down in his seat a little. He didn't like when Niall looked at him that way; he just wanted to focus on his tribal paintings. "What's going on?" the younger boy asked, a tinge of worry in his voice, and Zayn signed.

"Nothing," he promised. _Except for my mom's jaw had to be wired shut thanks to my dad_. "I'm fine."

Niall shifted in his seat, but he seemed satisfied by the answer. The best thing about Niall was that he always accepted Zayn's lies, even if he didn't trust them. "Okay… I'm going to make this one have a big dragon on it. Like the wibbly Chinese kind," he explained, breaking through whatever tension was between them and causing Zayn to quirk a grin.

"Yeah? I haven't heard those described as 'wibbly' before, I don't think," he teased. Niall's face dropped for a second before he realized Zayn was just playing with him, and he quickly went back to smiling.

"That's because it's a scientific term. Only smart people like me would know it," he replied, and Zayn laughed. Even when his world was caving in, he still had Niall.

* * *

Zayn's fifth grade graduation wasn't a good one.

His mom hadn't told him about it –apparently she was supposed to get a letter, but if she had, she hadn't told Zayn- so he showed up in his regular hand-me-downs from Liam, while everyone else looked all spiffy and new. Plus, in addition to not letting him know about the occasion, Zayn's mom hadn't even bothered to show up.

His dad hadn't either, of course, but some part of Zayn thought that his mom might care enough to be there for him.

The ceremony was long and exhausting. All the other kids were sitting up straight on the steps of the stage, listening to their teachers while Zayn honestly felt like he was falling apart. He didn't like gatherings like this: where he could see how happy everyone else was and how all their happy families were sitting in the stands for them. Zayn was alone. He was so totally alone.

"So let's give it up for our class of 2006!" the principal said, ending the short little ceremony with a flourish. The audience burst into applause, happy parents cheering for their kids with a standing ovation. All too soon, the two groups of people –parents and kids- started to merge into each other.

His peers rushed to meet their moms and dads, and Zayn was caught in the crossfire. He stood there, lost and confused, until a familiar voice called out his name. "Zayn!" Mrs. Horan called, and he turned around just in time to be pulled into a hug. "Congratulations!" she praised as the rest of her family gathered around. Zayn found Niall perched on his father's shoulders, his scrawny body drowning in the suit jacket he was wearing. Zayn wished he had a suit jacket instead of his Power Rangers t-shirt.

"Thank you," he said, trying to stamp down his jealousy. Mrs. Horan looked about the room, obviously in search of Zayn's mom and dad, but as the crowd filtered out, it was clear that neither of them were in attendance. She swore a bit under her breath, and Zayn looked up at her, eyes wide and scared.

He bit his lip as she knelt down to his level. "Do you know if your mom is coming to get you, Zayn?" she asked, and Zayn shook his head no. He didn't. He was pretty sure they weren't, actually. Mrs. Horan hummed. "All right. Well, how about this. We're all about how go out for a celebratory lunch, okay?" she asked, and Niall squirmed a bit in excitement, nearly causing his father to drop him.

"Yeah, for Chinese, Italian, and Mexican!" he exclaimed, listing his three favorite types of food. His mom just frowned at him.

"Actually, we're getting just one of those. Niall still has to choose. But would you like to come with us, Zayn? I'm sure Niall wouldn't mind letting you help decide on what we eat," she offered, and Zayn thought about his options. It was either head off with the Horans or ride the bus home from school alone.

"I would like to go with you, please," he decided, and he was met with four smiles from Niall, Greg, and Mr. and Mrs. Horan.

"Great! You're always welcome with us, Zayn, just say the word," Mr. Horan chimed in, and Zayn felt a wave of relief wash from his shoulders. At least he was included somewhere.

"Can we get pasta?" he asked, and Niall made a whooping noise.

"Olive Garden, here we come!" he cheered, steering his dad to the car and laughing all the way. Apparently that was his way of saying yes. Mrs. Horan, meanwhile, took Zayn's hand and walked him to the car, tittering on and on about how great a fifth grader he was and how amazing he would do in middle school.

It was nice to feel part of a family again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I try to include some cannon stuff kind of into this sometimes? So right now I’m pulling a lot of references from 2010-2011, and when they get older, I’ll start using more current dynamics and things. So, like… you know, slightly perverted Harry has kind of morphed into like… this early bloomer, potty-humor appreciating ten-year-old. And I remember Niall at least used to be the slowest runner, with Zayn lagging behind with him so he didn't feel bad, and Louis sprinting ahead of everyone. And like… Danielle has made an appearance, but Payzer isn’t exactly endgame, as I’m sure you could imagine. And there are various other references that you might/might not catch. 
> 
> Mostly I wanted to make clear that I am making all these decisions based on when the boys were younger because in this fic, they’re WAY younger. And so I’m gonna have them grow, like… two dimensionally. Sort of. If that makes sense.
> 
> Also, goodness, it is so hard to write awkward, fifth grade crushes. I don’t know what those feel like anymore, aha.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really only remember calling everything dumb in sixth grade and really not liking the dance at all.

Zayn was eleven when his mom left for the first time.

At first he didn’t notice she was gone. Zayn was used to not seeing his mom very often, and he was used to his meals coming at confusing times and far apart. So the first couple days she was missing, it didn’t even affect Zayn. 

But it didn’t take long for him to get curious. There wasn’t any food left in his pantry or fridge. Normally, his mom would take note of that type of thing and at least buy some crackers or Oreos. Zayn also was out of lunch money, his laundry wasn’t cleaned, and no one was making sure he got to school in the mornings. Zayn was still young, and those were things he wasn’t quite ready to handle on his own. He needed his mom, and for some reason she didn’t seem to be around.

A little investigating on Zayn’s part proved that she wasn’t even coming home at night. Her side of the bed didn’t appear touched, and most of his mom’s clothes were missing. Her toothbrush wasn’t even in the stand.

It was really, really scary.

After three days of no rumpled sheets, no clothes, and no toothbrush, Zayn decided to make some calls. He had rang his mother’s cellphone enough times, but he hadn’t called her work. He dialed the number of her morning job first.

“Hello! This is Steinmart! How can we help you today?” a chirpy lady asked over the phone. It was the same voice that usually picked up when Zayn needed to call his mom to come get him from school early because he was sick or to ask if he could go over to one of his friends’ houses on Saturdays.

“Hi. This is Zayn. Is my mom there?” he asked, pressing the phone to his ear rather anxiously.  There was a long pause on the phone before the woman spoke again.

 “Zayn, sweetheart, your mom quit her job about a week ago,” she said slowly. It was like _she_ was confused, but _Zayn_ was the one whose world was crumbling apart.

“She did?” he asked, suddenly feeling _so_ young and _so_ scared.

“Yes, love, she turned her name tag in and everything. Are you having trouble reaching her?” she questioned. Zayn tugged at his hair and shook his head before he remembered that the woman he was talking to couldn’t see him.

“Um… Um, I don’t know. I don’t know, sorry, bye,” he choked out before slamming the phone down into the receiver. A sob bubbled up through his chest and escaped his mouth without any warning. Zayn just wanted his mom, and he had _no idea_ where she went.

Zayn was still crying –his shoulders wracking and his sobs tearing through him so forcefully it was painful- as he called his mom’s other work places. Or what _used_ to be his mom’s other work places. Apparently she had quit both of her other jobs.

It was getting to be too much for Zayn. His mom wasn’t at work, and she wasn’t at home, so where could she have gone?

Zayn’s fingers fumbled over the keypad as he made one final call. He bounced on his toes nervously as he waited for someone to pick up. His heart nearly burst in relief when he heard a familiar voice greet him over the line. “Hello? Aisha?”

“No, no, Mrs. Poulston, it’s me Zayn,” he cried into the phone. He felt helpless.

Zayn listened as the Louis’s mom’s hands shifted around the phone. Louis had kept his dad’s last name, Tomlinson, while his mom had gone back to her maiden name. It _used_ to be a bit confusing for Zayn, but he was all grown up now. Or… at least he was in his head. Eleven usually felt like a grown up age, but right now he felt positively tiny. “Zayn, sweetheart? Where is your mom?”

He nearly choked. “I dunno, that’s what I wanted to ask _you_ ,” he explained. “It’s been a really long time, Mrs. Poulston. It’s been a really, _really_ long time, and I’m hungry, and I’m tired, and I don’t have anything to wear, and mommy’s clothes aren’t in her drawers, and her toothbrush isn’t where it’s supposed to be, and no one is looking for it but me,” he said all in a rush.

“Well…  What did your dad say, love?” Louis’s mom asked. She sounded sad, which wasn’t exactly what Zayn was hoping for. He was hoping she would use her take-charge voice and figure it all out for him.

“I don’t know, I don’t wanna talk to him. I don’t like him,” he replied truthfully.

“Okay, dearie, okay.” Now she just sounded stressed. Why wouldn’t she just help him already? “How about if you come over here, okay? I’m sure Louis would love a play date this late on a week night,” she offered.

Zayn huffed. “We’re going to be in middle school, we don’t do play dates anymore,” he mumbled under his breath, starting to calm down. It would be nice to be at Louis’s. He had a nice house, and Zayn always felt a little bit better when he was out with people, instead of locked up in his own home with his drunken father. “But… But I would like to come over. Can you come get me? Mom says dad is too crazy to drive anymore,” he explained, not understanding the issue of drunk driving fully.

“Of course. Of course. I’ll be there in just a minute.”

Zayn sniffed. “Mrs. Poulston, I thought you and my mom were best friends. Why don’t you know where she is?” he asked weakly.

She sighed over the line. “Sometimes, even though they’re not supposed to, adults make really, really dumb decisions, and I think your mom might be making one right now,” she explained while Zayn wiped his snotty nose on his arm.

“M’kay. I’m gonna… I’m gonna get my shoes on,” he replied.

“Great, okay! I’ll see you in a little bit; I’ll honk when I’m in the driveway, okay?” she asked. She still sounded stressed. Why did she have to sound so _stressed_?

“Okay,” Zayn agreed, hanging up the phone.

He just wanted his mom.

* * *

The start of six grade marked the start of more changes for Zayn. His mom had come home, but his house wasn’t the way it used to be. Everything felt like it was shifting, and he couldn’t keep up. He had to deal with a new household, a new school, a new bus, a new bus stop… The only thing Zayn wanted a new set of were sneakers. Liam’s old pair pinched his feet. 

Zayn tried to hold it together as he stood on the corner and waited for the middle school bus. Apparently middle school was a lot bigger with a lot more kids. Plus, you had to switch from class to class, and Zayn was used to having the same seat in the same room for every subject but math.

His heart rate started to pick up. His breathing grew ragged. He started wringing his hands. Zayn didn’t realize how freaked out he was until he got onto the bus and made eye contact with a very scared looking Niall. 

“Zayn?” Niall asked, grabbing his wrist and pulling him into his lap. “Zayn, are you okay? You’re doing that thing again. You’re doing that thing,” he repeated, but Zayn didn’t know what he was talking about.

His cheeks started to itch, and Zayn went to scratch them. He looked down at his hand after, realizing they were wet. He was crying. _Again_.

Niall kept talking to him, but Zayn couldn’t really hear, so he definitely couldn’t respond. The only thing he noticed was that Niall was holding him in the exact same way Mrs. Horan had when he had fell and scraped his knee last year.

“Don’t be scared, don’t be scared, don’t be scared,” Niall kept repeating while Zayn seemed to calm down a little bit. He realized suddenly that Liam, Harry, and Louis were all on the bus, too. Each of the boys was looking at him with wide confused eyes, while Zayn wiped his own free of tears.

“I don’t like sixth grade already,” Zayn explained. It was the first thing he said since walking up the stupid steps of the stupid bus in the stupid first place.

Harry was the first to respond. “Oh, don’t be worried Zayn, we’re all going to be there together!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms around him and nearly sending him tumbling off Niall’s lap.

“Yeah, together!” Louis exclaimed, jumping on top of Harry. Now Zayn really _was_ forced off of Niall’s lap, Louis having wedged him and Harry in the gap between the seats. “Liam, come be together!” Louis demanded.

“No, we’re going to get in trouble,” he replied nervously. Sure enough, just as he said it, the bus driver was screaming at them to all get in their seats.

Louis’s scrambling off of them only shoved Harry further into Zayn and Zayn further into the floor. They were a mess of limbs, even as the bus came to a stop, but at least Zayn wasn’t a mess of tears anymore.

* * *

Sixth grade was actually going okay, for the most part. Zayn found that he liked getting to switch classes. It was really fun seeing all his friends in the hallway and taking breaks at his locker. Harry had even let him have some of his magnets to decorate the inside of his metal door. 

The only thing Zayn didn’t like about sixth grade was the _dance_.

It was a stressful affair to say the least. For weeks, girls had been talking about dresses and hairstyles, and guys had been talking about dates. Zayn had totally missed whatever had suddenly made girls so desirable. He knew Liam and Danielle had kissed that one time, but he hadn’t realized his whole grade wanted to do those kinds of things, too.

Zayn hadn’t thought too much about it until now.

Now he was at the dance with Louis on one side, Niall on the other, but Liam and Harry missing in action. Liam was with Danielle, naturally, and Harry was with a girl named Taylor.

It was weird. Zayn didn’t really know why he was here, but at least he wasn’t the only one without a date. Niall and Louis had come alone too, and he didn’t feel so awkward lurking against the edge of the gym with his friends standing next to him.

“I don’t think I like dances,” Zayn said as loudly as he could to be heard over the music.

“I kinda do. But it would be more fun with a girl. All the guys who are having fun are dancing with girls,” Louis replied, first pointing at the smiles on the faces of the boys with dates and then the awkward frowns sported by lonelier guys.

As if on queue, a cute girl with rosy cheeks and fancy, curled hair approached Louis, tapping him on the shoulder. Zayn couldn’t hear what she asked, but he assumed it was something good because a huge smile lit up Louis’s face. The other boy gave him and Niall a big thumbs up before heading to the dance floor with the cute brunette

“This is _lame_ ,” Niall groaned, looking miserable.

“It’s not _so_ lame,” Zayn replied, if only to cheer Niall up a little bit. He stared down at the little cup of Goldfish he had gotten from the snack table. An idea came over him, and he couldn’t help but smirk. “Open wide,” he instructed, before throwing a Goldfish at Niall’s face.

Niall yelped, the cracker hitting his cheek and falling to the floor, before he realized what was happening. His eyes started to sparkle and he jumped on his toes. “Oh, oh! Again, again!” he begged, opening wide. Zayn obligingly threw another Goldfish at Niall, cheering as he caught it. “Now you!”

Zayn spent the rest of the night tossing whatever snacks he could find at Niall’s face and letting Niall throw it all right back at him. By the time Liam’s mom came to pick them all up, Zayn was picking pretzels, Chex Mix, and the heads and tails of dinosaur chicken nuggets out of his hair.

“Next time let’s do all that at home,” Niall suggested as they got in the car. Finally, it was quiet enough to have a conversation.

“Sounds good to me,” Zayn agreed. Dances weren’t _terrible_ , but hanging out with Niall would be much, much better.

* * *

Zayn jumped into the creek, splashing water up on Harry’s head as the other boy bent down to catch minnows. He laughed as Harry squealed and kicked water up at him in retaliation.

It was unusually warm for autumn, and Zayn had a feeling that it was the last day he was going to be able to go out in short sleeves until spring. He and his friends were all soaking up the last of the good weather by playing at the neighborhood creek. Despite strict instructions from all of their parents to stay dry, all of the boy’s shoes and socks were resting up high on the grassy embankment as they played in the water. Their jeans were rolled up to their knees.

“I caught one!” Liam called, breaking up Zayn and Harry’s water fight as the two rushed over to see. Liam held out his cupped hands.

 A confused looking minnow darted around in the space between the boy’s palms. Water dripped through the cracks of Liam’s fingers and Niall made a distressed noise as the water level went down. 

“Let it go, let it go!” Niall demanded, always the sensitive one.

“No, keep it, see if it starts flopping around!” Louis retorted, always the insensitive one.

Fortunately for the minnow, Liam chose to listen to Niall and bent down to release the tiny fish back into the stream. “Goodbye, friend. Thanks for letting me hold you,” Liam said kindly as the minnow swam away as fast as it could.

“How are you supposed to catch tadpoles?” Harry asked, wringing out his curls.

“Like this!” Louis replied, jumping on Harry and clinging to him with arms and legs. The force of the action sent Harry teetering on already shaky ground, and Zayn quickly reached out to keep the two from falling. All this clinging and hugging was going to get them all hurt one day.

“Uff, Louis!” Harry complained as the older boy knocked into him. The second Louis was off of him, Harry kicked water up and into the other boy’s face.

A wicked smile lit up Louis’s expression. “Oh, you have no _idea_ what you just started, Harry Edward Styles,” he said with a smirk.

“Bring it on, Louis _William_ Tomlinson,” Harry replied stoically. His strong expression fell, however, the second Louis started splashing water at him. Yet again, Harry was squealing, except this this time, Zayn was caught in the crossfire.

“Lou!” Zayn exclaimed. He started helping Harry to get back at Louis but accidentally got Liam wet in the process, drawing him into the water fight as well. Niall was cracking up on the outskirts of the battle until a drenched Louis tackled him into the sand.

Within five minutes, despite the huge smiles lighting up their faces, they were all choking on creek water. “This was dumb,” Liam said, though the twinkle in his eyes proved he had a good time. Harry, meanwhile, looked bedraggled.

“I look like a wet cat,” he moaned, shaking out his hair and splattering rain droplets all over his friends.

“No, you look like baby Tarzan,” Liam replied.

“Yeah, baby Tarzan!” Niall chirped, hopping onto Zayn’s back for a piggyback ride, even though Zayn had never offered. He was lucky Zayn didn’t try to splash him like Harry had done to Louis.

“If Harry is baby Tarzan, then you are baby Terk,” Zayn told the blond. Niall slumped on top of him.

“But Terk is a _girl_.”

“Terk is a _girl?!_ ” Harry yelped. “I’ve seen that movie like… a _billion times!_ I thought Terk was a boy!”

“Harry, do you _ever_ know what’s going on? Or is everything confusing for you?” Louis asked smartly. Harry’s features set firmly on his face before he kicked water up at Louis yet again. Harry smiled as Louis sputtered.

“Louis, do you _ever_ see that coming? Or is everything a surprise to you?” he mimicked.

“That’s it, you’re going to get it this time!” Louis replied, splashing at Harry with everything he had. Zayn winced as more water flooded his vision. _Here we go again,_ he thought, dropping Niall so he could head into battle. His friends were dumb -and a little crazy- but hanging out with them certainly beat staying at home.

* * *

It’s gotten to the point where Zayn doesn’t know if his mom is going to be there after school or not. Sometimes she’s home; sometimes she’s gone for days –or even weeks- at a time, and Zayn never knows if she’s coming back.

It’s terrifying to say the least. All Zayn wants is some kind of constancy, and he never knows what to expect. Sometimes, he’s not even in the house yet, but he can hear his parents screaming as he walks up to the front porch. Other times it’s deathly silent, and Zayn opens the door to an empty house.

His dad is usually drunk, and when his mom is home she’s usually cranky, but other than that, Zayn doesn’t know what’s coming when he gets off at his bus stop.

Needless to say, things have gotten worse. His mom couldn’t keep a job, not with the disappearing act she kept pulling, so Zayn’s father was forced to find work.

Zayn didn’t know what his dad’s job was. He didn’t like to talk to his dad. He did know, though, that whatever it was made his dad much more angry than he usually was. It made him scream more, and it made him hit his mom a _lot_. Whenever Zayn saw her, there were purple bruises up and down her arms, and sometimes on her face. Sometimes he caught her nursing a black eye with a bag of frozen peas, and it scared Zayn for reasons he didn’t know how to voice.

He felt like an outside observer in his own home. All of these terrible things were happening around him, and he wasn’t able to stop any of it. His dad hated to hear him speak, and his mom was growing to despise it, too. Every time Zayn tried to ask a question and understand, his parents quickly quieted him.

So Zayn stayed up in his room. He held his baby blanket over his ears whenever he heard screaming, and he drew pictures to try and find himself some kind of escape. Sometimes he prayed, but Zayn had long since stopped feeling like anyone up there could hear him.

* * *

There’s not art _class_ in middle school, but there is art _club_. Zayn is thankful beyond words that Niall was willing to sign up for it with him; otherwise, there would have been no one to drive him home after the club meetings and he wouldn’t have gotten to join. Now, Mrs. Horan drives him, and she doesn’t mind when Zayn’s mom can’t take him anywhere.  

Most of the kids in art club like to keep quiet with their heads bent over their work and their mouths closed. Niall, however, was the opposite. 

“And then I was like, ‘Louis, no, don’t eat that’ and he was like, ‘Relax, I do this all the time.’ And then Liam was like, ‘No, Louis, I know you don’t because I wouldn’t let you,’ and then Louis was all sad and grumpy like he gets, you know? And then-“

“ _Mr_. Horan,” their club advisor, Mr. Harman, interrupted. “Do you even _like_ art? Or are you just here to talk to Zayn?”

Niall squirmed, looking down at his white piece of paper and then over at Zayn, who had somehow managed to concentrate enough while Niall was talking to paint a full background and start blocking out his self portrait. “I’m just not good at painting,” Niall said passively. Mr. Harman quirked an eyebrow.

“You don’t seem to be good at anything art-related,” their teacher countered. “You said you weren’t good at ceramics, or drawing, or sculpting-“

“And I’m _not_ ,” Niall said.

“Yes, but you could at least _try_ if you’re going to be in the _art_ club. You have to make art to call yourself an artist.”

The blond frowned. “But I don’t call myself an artist.”

Mr. Harman sighed and handed Niall a paintbrush. He passed him a pallet full of paint pointedly. “At least finish your background by the time you go home today. Even if it’s just one color,” he said. Niall groaned and dutifully started painting his canvas bright yellow.

“I don’t think he likes you,” Zayn pointed out quietly, starting to fill in his hair. Niall frowned.

“I don’t think he likes me either. Also, I don’t like how he thinks I don’t like art,” the younger boy answered, his brush strokes agitated in motion.

Zayn crinkled his eyebrows together. “Well _do_ you like art?”

“… _No_.”

“Then why _are_ you in the art club?” Zayn questioned, realizing that it didn’t make much sense for Niall to actually be here. There were a million other things he could be doing with his time, and if Niall didn’t like doing art, then it was stupid for him to be in the club.

“I dunno… I like hanging out with you. And you always seem happy when you’re here and stuff, so that’s pretty cool,” Niall answered with a shrug. He looked unbothered; meanwhile, Zayn was flushing bright red.

“Oh,” he replied, flustered, although he didn’t know why. It always seemed like the things Niall said meant more than whatever everyone else said. This was one of those moments where Zayn couldn’t help but be incredibly flattered, even though if Louis, Liam or Harry had said the same thing, it wouldn’t have mattered as much. “Thanks.”

* * *

“Shut the fuck up! Shut the  _fuck up, bitch!”_   The sound of a fist hitting skin reverberated through the Malik household.

“What is _wrong with you?!_ Stop hitting me, stop _hitting me_!”

Zayn squeezed his eyes shut and crammed himself in his closet. He found it best to hide when these things happened. The eleven-year-old took his baby blanket and pulled it over his head, absolutely desperate to block out the sound of his mom screaming and his dad hurting her.

She would probably leave after this, yet again. His mom always disappeared after she was smacked around like this, and Zayn didn’t blame her. It was just that he _really, really missed her_ when she was gone.

Zayn couldn’t help but panic a bit as he thought about what would happen if his mom left for good this time. He didn’t want to be left alone with just his dad for the rest of his life. That sounded so _awful_.

His heart rate picked up, tears rushed down his face, and all of a sudden Zayn couldn’t get air in. All he could hear was the beating of his own heart in his ears, and his vision was spotty as he struggled to breathe.

This had happened before. Once with Niall and his mom and once with the boys on the bus. However, this time there was no one there to help him feel better. Zayn was alone –panicking and terrified- on the floor of the closet where no one would come and find him to make him feel better.

The thought of how alone he was only seemed to stress Zayn out more. His little body wracked with fear as he struggled to calm down. His breaths came out choppy and irregular, and there seemed to be nothing Zayn could do to relax.

He curled up in a tighter and tighter ball. If there was one thing good about this, it was that the fight his parents were having was completely blocked out of his mind as he was swallowed up by panic.

His shallow lungs struggled to function for what felt like hours. By the time it was over, Zayn was exhausted, and sore, and slumped against the wall. He found it difficult to even support his own body weight; he was so tired.

Zayn fell asleep on the floor of his closet with tear stains on his cheeks.

* * *

“That movie was dumb,” Liam complained as they all rolled out their sleeping bags. They had just watched  _Mighty Ducks_ per Harry’s request, and apparently Liam hadn’t liked it.

“You think _everything’s_ dumb,” Harry complained. 

“I don’t think _you’re_ dumb.”

“Don’t worry, Harry, I think you’re plenty dumb!” Louis teased. Harry tossed a couch cushion in his direction, nailing him in the face without even looking.

The boys were all over at the Payne’s house for a sleepover. Now that they were older, their parents didn’t mind letting them do this kind of thing more often. Zayn couldn’t help but feel rather grown up. Plus, it was exciting to spend time at someone else’s house, and it was good to fall asleep feeling safe.

“I’m hungry,” Niall complained, stealing Harry’s uneaten pizza crust off of the coffee table.

“You’re always hungry,” Louis replied. “Also, you’ve definitely eaten more than any of us so far, and _I_ wanted Harry’s pizza crust!” he complained, looking to Harry for support.

Harry shook his head, tangled hair flying. “No, you called me dumb and Niall didn’t. He gets the pizza.” Louis pouted. “Still no.” Louis pouted harder. “ _Still no_.”

Zayn fully expected Harry and Louis’s conversation to go on for another couple hours –if not days- but fortunately, Liam broke the silence. He flopped back onto his pillow (only now did Zayn notice that Liam had his sleeping bag sprawled out next to him) and let out a groan. “I don’t want to go to track tomorrow,” he complained.

“I don’t want to go to rehearsal tomorrow,” agreed Louis.

“Neither do I,” Harry agreed. Both boys had joined the school musical and had minor speaking roles in Bye Bye Birdie. They had been excited at the time, but now all they did was complain. Apparently, all the did was sit around waiting for their characters to be called, but neither of them got to do much acting. Zayn could see how it would be disappointing.

“I don’t want to go to my grandma’s house tomorrow,” sighed Niall.

Suddenly, four sets of eyes were on Zayn as if every one expected him to speak. Zayn laid back in his sleeping bag, unsure of what to say. He didn’t really have any plans. Not like the other boys, at least. Zayn didn’t have parents who were willing to take him to fun things like track and play rehearsal. He was quiet for a moment.

“I don’t want to go _home_ tomorrow,” he eventually said.  

Louis sat up straighter. “Is your mom home?” Louis asked, earning himself a smack in the arm from Liam.

“Louis, that’s rude.”

“She is,” Zayn answered, even if it was an inappropriate question. Zayn didn’t really care. It was nice to have _someone_ checking up on him, and he always tried to be as honest as possible when it came to his best friends.

“Are your… Well, I mean, are they, like…” Harry mashed his hands together, struggling to word what he was thinking. “Like, I guess… they’re still not getting along, then?”

“Yeah, they fight a lot. My dad, like… Well, I dunno.”

As truthful as Zayn tried to be, he didn’t want to tell them about the domestic abuse going on in his own home. It was too stressful, and for some reason, Zayn found it really embarrassing. Especially because all of his friends seemed to have really nice houses –at least when Zayn was over- and it was humiliating that his was such a mess.

It was equally embarrassing that he had to take all his clothes from Liam, and that Niall had to try and cheer him up when he was crying, and that Louis and Harry had to ask him questions like this. But the other boys knew about all of those things. Zayn wanted to keep this one part of it all to himself.

“Zayn,” Niall spoke up from his spot on the other side of Zayn. “Do you wanna come to my grandma’s with me?” Zayn looked at Niall and his eyes welled up with tears. The blond quickly backtracked. “I mean, it’s not _so_ bad. She has, like, checkers and puzzles and things. And you like reading and coloring, and those are _definitely_ grandma’s house kind of things, you know? You can come. My mom likes it when you come places, she says that’s good for you,” Niall prattled off, wringing his hands together.

Zayn sniffled and nodded. “Yeah, I would like to come really bad, please,” he begged. He couldn’t stand going another full day with both of his parents in the house at once. As much as he wanted his mom to come back home whenever she left, it was torture to have both her and his dad together under one roof.

“Okay, Zayn,” Niall agreed easily.

It was weirdly quiet, and Zayn couldn’t stop very-nearly-crying. Everyone was looking at him sadly. Once again, Zayn couldn’t help but feel embarrassed and he wished he had brought his blanket to hide under. (He had thought the other boys would make fun of him if he slept with it.)

Thankfully, Niall was there to take care of him. “I think maybe you need a hug, right? How about you come get a hug,” he offered, arms outstretched and Zayn fell into them gratefully. He hid his face in the crook of Niall’s neck, away from all the peering eyes, even though they meant well.

“It’s going to be okay, Zayn. You’re okay.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this is where it starts to get real. I'm thinking chapters might start to get longer because there's so much going on now. But we'll see. 
> 
> Also if it seems like I can't settle on Lilo or Larry it's probably because I actually CAN'T SETTLE on Lilo or Larry.

Zayn was twelve years old when his mom left for good.

She didn’t announce it. She hadn’t ever announced any of her trips before, but Zayn always knew she would be back within a few days. He expected her home on Tuesday latest.

But then it was Wednesday. And then it was Thursday. And then it was Friday, and Saturday, and Sunday, and Monday, and back to Tuesday again. And then it was Tuesday of the next month, and then the next, and the next… And Zayn knew.

She wasn’t coming back.

And Zayn didn’t want her to. Not after she abandoned him with his drunken father, a dirty house, and garden full of overgrown weeds. All the chores were now on _Zayn’s_ shoulders. _Everything_. Every dish, every load of laundry, every discarded beer can was taken care of by twelve-year-old little Zayn, who had gotten so skinny he could now fit into Harry’s hand-me-downs, even though he was younger.

Fortunately, all of his friends’ parents were more than sympathetic to his problem. He chose not to talk about it much –he didn’t want to, it was too humiliating- but he was more than appreciative when he was allowed to stay late at his friends’ houses. He was being clothed and fed by people who he hardly knew how to talk to anymore but was more dependent on than his whole family.

After all, the only person who didn’t care about Zayn was his own father.

* * *

“I have a big announcement, a  _huge_ announcement, a massive announcement!” Liam yelped as their group waited in the lunch line.

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Dude, it’s only the first day of school.  What could possibly have happened to you alrea- _wait!”_ he interrupted himself, “Do you have Spanish with Senorita Romero? Because she’s definitely the hottest teacher in school, you lucky piece of shit!” he exclaimed punching Liam in the arm.

Harry made a whining noise and clamped his hands over his ears. “Louis, you’re not s’posed to swear!” he complained, his nose crinkled up. Lou rolled his eyes. Apparently, when you were thirteen it was okay to curse a lot, but Zayn, Niall, Liam, and Harry were all only twelve. They weren’t quite there yet.

Liam cut in. “First of all, I do have Senorita Romero for Spanish, but that’s not the exciting bit,” he said. Everyone perked up in interest. “Danielle and I are like… _a thing!”_

“Wait, a _thing_ thing? Or just a thing?” Niall asked.

“A _thing_ thing. Like a total thingy, thing-thing. Like the thingiest thing to ever thing,” Liam replied, his cheeks going up and up as he grew more and more excited. Everyone seemed pretty excited, actually, but Zayn was lost. He didn’t know what the difference between a “ _thing_ thing” and a regular thing was.

“That’s so exciting! She’s so pretty, Liam, and so nice! I’m so happy for you,” Harry said earnestly, and Niall gripped onto Liam’s arm.

“You’re not allowed to sit with her at lunch. You’re only allowed to sit with _us_ at lunch. And she can’t come because she steals my potato chips, and I _hate_ when people steal my potato chips,” he said very seriously.

Liam laughed, and Louis bounced on him with a hug. “Look at you, Liam! Who would of thought you’d be the first out of all of us to have a girlfriend!”

“A _girlfriend?”_ Zayn repeated, and everyone turned to look at him.

Fortunately, Liam was gracious enough not to tease Zayn for being confused. (To be fair, Zayn didn’t have any siblings, real parents, or other friends, so he was the last to know _everything_ out of the five. The other boys were used to having to explain everything.) “Yeah! Me and Dani, man. She says we’re going to get married and everything!”

Zayn wasn’t sure if he liked how starry-eyed Liam was getting. He didn’t understand love… At least, he didn’t understand loving a _girl_. The only girls he ever talked to were…  Actually, come to think of it, Zayn never talked to any girls.

The rest of lunch passed by in a blur. Zayn picked at his school’s free meal-plan cheese sandwich and fruit cup while all the other boys munched on hot dogs and chips and talked about Danielle, girls, crushes, and stuff that Zayn didn’t understand. He didn’t think any girls were cute, and he certainly didn’t want to go out to movies alone with them or hold their hands.

He was near finished with his cheese sandwich when Niall nudged his bag of barbeque chips towards him. “Have some,” he offered, and Zayn couldn’t help but flush.

Zayn thought Niall was cuter than any of the girls in his grade. What with his cute chin, and soft cheeks, and blue eyes? Zayn could get _lost_ in those blue eyes.

And Zayn did get lost in them, until lunch was over and all the boys had to scurry off to their next classes. Harry stayed glued to Zayn’s hip as they headed off in the opposite direction as everyone else. “See the thing about Taylor is that everyone says she looks like a goat, but she really is nice, kind of. Or… I don’t know, I just think she’s cool, sort of. And she can play the guitar! I wanna play the guitar just because _she_ plays the guitar, you know what I mean?” he prattled. He’d hardly stopped talking since they left the cafeteria.

Zayn frowned. “No, I don’t know what you mean,” he admitted, interrupting Harry’s blathering. “What are crushes even like?” he questioned. He’d been too embarrassed to ask all the guys, but he knew Harry wouldn’t laugh at him.

Harry’s face scrunched up for a second, which Zayn had come to realize that meant he was thinking really hard. “Well, like… I guess it’s like… whenever you see them, you’re really happy. And when you’re alone together, you don’t want anyone to interrupt. And no matter what you’re doing, it’s fun when you’re together,” he replied. His eyes lit up shortly after speaking. “I found my class! I’ll see you later, Zayn!” he called before ducking into one of the rooms.

Zayn thought about Harry’s answer all through his next class. He definitely hadn’t felt any of those things for a girl before, not even his mom. Niall was the only person Zayn genuinely was excited to see each and every time they were together. Niall was the only one he wanted to be alone with. Niall was the only one who could make anything fun. Niall… Niall was Zayn’s “only” for a lot of things.

The realization left Zayn shaky. He didn’t know what it meant, exactly, to feel all these things for Niall. Niall wasn’t a girl. He was just… Niall. But he was _Zayn’s_ Niall, and he couldn’t imagine spending a single day of his life without him.

* * *

“Stay still!”

“I can’t, it tickles!”

“Stay still!”

“No!”

“Zayn, you’re messing it up!” Niall laughed. The blond had gotten bored of painting paper and had decided to use Zayn’s cheek as his canvas instead. Unfortunately, Zayn couldn’t stop giggling, so he was sure his face looked like an absolute mess.

“Boys, Art Club is for students who are serious about their work. Please keep your noise down so the other people can focus,” Mrs. McKinnon asked sweetly. She was by far the nicest art teacher Zayn has had so far, which meant she was also the worst at controlling Niall.

“I’m serious about _face painting_. That’s my work,” Niall replied with a wolfish grin.

Mrs. McKinnon’s smile said she understood where Niall was coming from, but her eyes said she was exasperated. “Sweetheart, that’s great, but you should be working on painting someone you care about, like everyone else is doing,” she replied, gesturing to the completed portraits hanging at the front of the room.

Niall beamed at their teacher. “But I am painting someone I care about,” he responded, going back to painting Zayn’s cheek and making him squeal with laughter. Mrs. McKinnon grabbed the paintbrush.

“You can either paint Zayn’s face on paper or not at all,” she said with as much strength as she could muster. Niall sighed, but conceded, reaching for his brush again.

Zayn waited for their teacher to walk away before whispering to Niall. “You know, one of these days you’re going to get us kicked out,” he teased, but Niall’s face was weirdly serious.

“I would never get you kicked out of art club, Zayn. You love it, and you’re the best one here,” he said honestly. Zayn smiled, relishing the feeling of being cared for. It was refreshing to be loved.

“Thanks… I would say you’re good too, but…”

“I’m trash?”

“Not _trash_ , but I can never tell what you’re trying to paint until you tell me,” he admitted with a one-shoulder shrug. Niall didn’t seem upset by it, though.

“Yeah, well… Mostly I just like keeping you company,” he said casually, making Zayn’s face turn bright red. It was crazy how Niall could say the simplest little things, and Zayn would have these massive reactions. He didn’t verbally respond, but fortunately, he didn’t have to. Niall was good at making Zayn feel like he didn’t always have to talk when they were together. “Can I have some of your blue?” Niall piped up after a moment.

Zayn pushed his pallet toward the blond, only to have the other boy start painting his face again. He couldn’t help but giggle until he was done. “What did you even make?” he asked, wishing he could see his face.

“It’s a dinosaur riding a tricycle.”

“Of course you did.”

“Hey!” Niall exclaimed. “I put effort into that dinosaur, okay? You’re not allowed to make fun of it, even if it does kind of look more like the state of Texas stomping on bees than anything else,” he said with a twisted up face. Zayn couldn’t help but smile. He knew he should probably care that there was a blob of paint on his cheek, but it was Niall’s handiwork. Niall could do whatever he wanted to him, and Zayn wouldn’t care.

* * *

Zayn has never liked doing dishes. He hated having to pick crusty food off of plates, and he abhorred having to reach his hands down into filthy water. He couldn’t think of anything grosser, but now that his mom was gone, dishes had become his responsibility.

He scrub-scrub-scrubbed away on the off chance his father would notice all of his hard work and say something nice to him. Zayn and his dad rarely spoke –they could go days without talking- but when Naveed did open his mouth, he never had anything nice to say.

Zayn was doing his best; he honestly was. It was just that he was only twelve years old, and twelve-year-olds made lots of mistakes, even when they were doing something as easy as washing dishes.

He watched in horror as the plate he was scrubbing slipped out of his hands and shattered on the floor.

At the very same moment, his dad happened to be on his way to the fridge for another beer.

“The fuck, Zayn?” his father asked, his voice rising to the same decibel as it did when he was watching football or talking to his wife. Zayn wasn’t used to being addressed by _that_ voice. He hated being screamed at like this. “What is wrong with you, _breaking plates?_ Don’t you know how much money feeding your ass costs me?! _Me?_ Your _father_ , who has to get up and go to fucking work _every morning_ while you do nothing all day? And now you’re making it all _worse_ by breaking all damn _dishes_!” he boomed, clearly furious.

Zayn flushed and looked at his toes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to,” he said quietly, fear lowering his volume.

His dad’s face was red with alcohol and anger. “You’re such a piece of _shit_!” he screeched. Zayn made the mistake of looking up at his father, only to be smacked across the face.

His head whipped to the side.

Zayn’s hands quickly reached up to his stinging cheek, and a whine rose up from the back of his throat. That hurt _so bad_ , worse than when Harry clocked him on the back of the head with a poorly aimed soccer ball.

When Zayn stood still for too long, his dad started yelling again. “Well? _Get the fuck out of my face!_ ”

Zayn was more than happy to comply. He darted away from his father, never looking back, and ran up the stairs to his room. Zayn locked the door, crawled into his closet, and pulled his baby blanket over his head as his breathing grew ragged.

Zayn didn’t understand what was happening to him. He didn’t know why he felt like he couldn’t breathe lately. It was like his heart rate couldn’t help but pick up, and his trachea burned as it worked over time to try to get air in.

He was vaguely aware of how panicked and anxious he felt, but mostly he was focused on trying to keep himself from passing out. The more he failed to get his breathing under control, the more he panicked, and the more he panicked, the more he struggled to inhale properly; until, eventually, Zayn had dissolved himself into a sobbing lump on the ground.

He never wanted to be hit by his father again.

* * *

“Ah, Louis!”

“Ah, Liam!” Louis mimicked in a snotty voice, earning himself a kick to the shin from his best friend.

“You got your gum in my hair! We’re supposed to be doing homework,” Liam complained. All the boys were over at the Styles’ house for a study session. However, no one but Liam tended to get any homework done when the five of them were together in one room.

“I thought you liked gum,” Louis replied calmly. He casually stole another piece of Niall’s _Extra_ , stuffed the stick into his mouth, and blew a bubble in Liam’s face. Liam squealed, tilting his chair back and away from Lou.

“Not in my _hair_. It won’t come out!”

Harry lifted his head from his earth and space textbook. His curly hair bounced against his cheeks. “Actually, I heard peanut butter is really good at getting gum out of hair!” Harry exclaimed as he slammed his book closed.

Niall jumped up from his chair. “I love peanut butter! Do you have any apples? Or celery? Or bananas? Or spoons?” he questioned, and Zayn could have guessed that Niall’s homework would be a lost cause the second food was brought up. It was almost becoming clichéd, how easily the blond was swayed when it came to snacks.

“All of the above!” Harry chirped, leading the way to the kitchen. Zayn snickered as he trailed behind, realizing there _was_ an awful large chunk of gum in Liam’s hair. It seemed that Harry and Liam were Louis’s targets. The older boy was always pranking them, bothering them, messing with them… It was kind of like when Louis was little and he used to pester all the girls he liked on the playground, except now Louis was much older and hopefully more mature.

_Hopefully_.

Harry disappeared into his pantry and soon whipped out the largest tub of peanut butter Zayn had ever seen. “Why do you have that?” Zayn asked, furrowing his eyebrows together.

“My mom is perfecting her peanut butter frosting recipe,” Harry explained. Meanwhile, Niall started digging through drawers and produced a huge spoon. He all but shoveled a hunk of peanut butter out of the container and looked at Harry expectantly.

“So what do I do with this? Just whack it on Liam’s head?”

“Well don’t _whack_ it! You have to do it nicely!” Liam exclaimed, his hands reaching up to block his skull from Niall’s overenthusiastic approach.

“Relax, relax, I’ll do it _perfectly_ ,” Niall promised. Zayn just smirked. He had doubted this plan since it’s conception, but leaving Niall in charge of _that much_ peanut butter couldn’t be a good idea.

Zayn was proven right because within five minutes, Liam’s entire head of long, wavy hair was buried about an inch deep in the sticky stuff. Liam looked at his reflection in the microwave. “This seems a bit excessive,” he said weakly. Meanwhile, Louis couldn’t even stand up straight he was laughing so hard.

“Now what?” Harry questioned, looking at all the boys expectantly.

Liam’s eyes widened with fear. “What do you mean ‘now what’? You’re supposed to be the one who knows what they’re doing!” he exclaimed. He was clearly panicking now that it was evident that he had no control and everyone else was doing whatever they wanted to his head.

“Maybe we should just wash it all off,” suggested Niall, frowning down at his sticky hands.

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” Zayn piped up, all eyes suddenly on him. He wasn’t sure if he hated the attention or loved it, but either way, Zayn hadn’t been one for saying much of anything these days. “Cause like… maybe the peanut butter is like shampoo,” he explained. His friends all gasped in realization.

“Of course, Zayn! You are so smart!” Louis replied kindly. As silly and goofy as Lou could be with everyone else, he always treated Zayn very well. It was nice. With what was going on at home, Zayn didn’t think he could take any of his friends giving him a hard time.

The quintet trounced their way up to the bathroom, and Harry turned on the showerhead. He removed the removable nozzle from the wall. “Bend over,” he told Liam.

Louis wolf-whistled as Liam got down on his knees, but Zayn didn’t know why. Harry, meanwhile, seemed very focused on rinsing out Liam’s floppy curls. They weren’t nearly as tight or as bouncy as Harry’s, but he still had a lot of hair. Harry seemed to be having a hard time with it.

“I think I might start gagging, guys, it smells so bad,” Liam said, and Harry shushed him.

“Don’t think about that. Start thinking that you’re like… at the hairdressers’. And this is the shampoo part. That feels good, doesn’t it?” Louis asked, adding his hand to the mix. Liam huffed.

“You guys are weird. I don’t even _like_ hair. I wanna like… go crazy and shave it all off,” he said. Louis laughed.

“You should! That would be so cool! You’d have such a fuzzy head!”

“Fuzzy wuzzy had a bear,” Niall said distractedly, like he didn’t know he was talking out loud, before going back to licking his hands clean.

“You guys are weird,” Liam repeated, although he didn’t look upset. In fact, Liam looked pretty happy for a guy with gum in his hair.

Zayn couldn’t help but be jealous. Sometimes it felt like everybody else knew how to be happy but him. If he had been in Liam’s position, there was no doubt in his mind that he would be crying; Zayn cried over everything. It was easy for Louis, Liam, Harry, and Niall to be happy. For him it was nearly impossible.

“Oh wait, I think it’s coming out,” Harry said happily, and Liam smiled  at his friends upside down.

“I guess I won’t be needing that haircut after all.”

* * *

It isn’t often that any of the boys fought. However, when they did, it was usually over stupid things, like who got the last slice of pizza or who got to be ‘it’ when they played Sardines.

Today was no different.

They were eating lunch in the cafeteria at their usual table, when Harry groaned. “Louis, that’s _my_ cookie,” he complained. Louis looked up at him, his face _genuinely_ innocent for once as far as Zayn could tell.

“No, you already ate yours, remember? This one is mine,” he replied, taking a big bite of gooey chocolate chip. Harry’s face crinkled up.

“No, that’s not true! You’re always stealing my things!”

“No, _that’s_ not true. I never take your stuff, Harry!”

“Yes, you do! All the time!”

“Really? Name one thing!”

Harry’s face grew red and he started sputtering. “Well, I don’t know!”

Louis smirked in response, looking like he had won the argument. “See? I _told_ you I don’t take your stuff,” he replied smartly. Harry seemed upset at first, but his expression quickly morphed into anger.

“You’re such an idiot, Louis.”

“No, _you_ ’ _re_ the idiot. At least I’m not making up stuff.”

“But you _are_ making up stuff!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are! You’re making up everything!”

Zayn’s pulse had started to pick up at the beginning of their argument, but now it was at an all time high. Niall made an upset noise from across the table, interrupting the ongoing argument. “Zayn, you’re crying,” he said, and Zayn felt his face heat up.

“Sorry,” he squeaked between ragged breaths. This was _humiliating_. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him. Before, he hadn’t been sure whether or not he liked attention, but now he was positive that he absolutely hated it. He desperately needed everyone to stop looking at him, almost as much as he needed to remember how to breathe properly.

“Don’t be sorry, don’t be sorry,” Niall replied. He was always the first to answer him during times like these. He was the only one who didn’t seem to get scared off initially by Zayn crying. “Do you… Oh, Zayn, oh no,” the blond practically cooed before getting out of his seat. He practically shoved Liam further down the bench.

Zayn had his eyes squeezed shut, but he felt Niall pull him into his lap. He wanted to be embarrassed by the way Niall was hugging him in front of everyone, but frankly, it was the only thing that had him holding on to reality.

“You’re okay, Zayn. You’re at school with me and the lads, and we’re okay. You’re okay. Everything is okay,” Niall promised. It’s like… he’s not even really _saying_ anything, but Zayn was starting to feel a little bit better.

“I hate… I hate fighting,” he choked out through his crap breathing.

Niall nodded frantically while Harry and Louis sputtered out apologies. “No one’s gonna fight anymore, okay? You’re okay. You can come to my house after school, and we’ll hang out until you feel better, all right?” he asked. Zayn nodded.

“All right.”

Niall didn’t let go until Zayn was fully calmed down, and even then he only stopped hugging him so he could walk him towards the bathroom and away from prying eyes. Even though he was humiliated, Zayn felt safe. “You’re okay, Zayn. You’re okay.”

Niall couldn’t make everything perfect, but he did make everything a whole lot better.

* * *

Zayn used to not  _like_ spending time at home, but now he absolutely  _hated it_ . Sometimes Zayn felt like his dad was hitting him just to hit him, not because he was doing anything wrong.

He might be able to understand the way his dad was treating him if it was for punishment’s sake, but sometimes Zayn would just walk by his father and he would get smacked so hard, his cheek would sting for hours.

It was becoming clearer and clearer that his dad hated him. It broke Zayn’s heart every day to think about it. He was trying so hard to be a good son, and to grow up right, and to get good grades and do his chores; however, all of it was going unnoticed. His father stayed angry no matter what Zayn did.

If he cleared the table, he got yelled at for not wiping it down properly afterwards. If he shoveled the driveway, he got screamed at for not salting it, too. If he cleaned the bathroom, he got shouted at for not scrubbing the grout well enough. Meanwhile, Zayn felt like he was running himself ragged trying to keep the house up to his dad’s standards. He couldn’t _do_ any better than this, yet he was expected to be doing so much more.

It stressed Zayn out even to think about it, so he didn’t. Every single bad feeling he had, he stuffed into the back of his brain to deal with later.

He didn’t care about understanding how he was feeling. It was too much for him to handle. Zayn tried his best to keep his home life separate from the rest of his life, and in doing so he probably suppressed more emotions than he was supposed to, if the crying fits he had been having were anything to go by.

Mostly, Zayn was just scared. He was scared to feel, he was scared to think, he was scared to talk about what was happening under his roof… He already hated the way Liam and Harry looked at him when they were loaning him clothes, and he couldn’t stand the way Niall had been fretting over him lately.

Fear had rendered Zayn frozen. All he could do was hope that things changed for the best. And soon.

* * *

“It’s hot, it’s so hot, I’m  _so hot_ ,” Harry whined, and Zayn smiled, walking into him a little bit so their arms bumped.

“That’s why we’re going for ice cream,” he replied.

“Yeah!” Niall chirped, jumping on Zayn’s back and clinging to him with all his limbs. It was much too hot for the other boy to be so close to him, but if Niall wanted to be carried, then Zayn didn’t mind. “I’m getting chocolate with peanuts on a sugar cone, and it’s going to be amazing.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Harry huffed. His hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat, and he looked positively miserable. “I just don’t understand why we’re _walking_. My mom could have driven us.”

“Hey!” Louis piped up from where he was walking ahead with Liam. “This is a boys only trip, okay? No moms invited!” he said, stomping his foot. Zayn couldn’t help but laugh. Lately, Zayn had been finding Louis’s dramatics more funny than annoying. Normally, Zayn tolerated Louis more than loved him, but now that they were getting older, Zayn looked up to him more.

“But I like air conditioning,” Harry replied with a bit of a pout. Louis made an indignant noise.

“Harry. This is our reward for getting out of seventh grade. We’re celebrating our freedom. Moms make _rules_ ; they don’t make _freedom_. Having her drive us would destroy the whole point of our going out in the first place,” Louis replied, although even he looked tired and sweaty as his feat pounded the pavement.

“I thought you _liked_ my mom,” Harry said, obviously distressed.

“Don’t worry, Harry, we all like your mom,” Liam swore reassuringly, bouncing over to ruffle his friend’s sweat-soaked curls.

“Okay,” Harry replied, sadly.

Meanwhile, Niall latched on tighter to Zayn’s neck, nearly choking him, but Zayn didn’t mind. “Hey, I’ll pay for your ice cream cone. Or sundae. Or milkshake. Whatever you want, really, I have extra money,” he offered, and Zayn flushed. He had been worrying about how he would afford this excursion, but he hadn’t wanted to say anything.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to,” he offered, guilt blooming through his heart. He always felt bad when Niall had to help him because of his crappy home situation.

“I do want to, though,” Niall replied. “S’like that move _Hello, Dolly!_ where the lady says that money’s not good unless you ‘sprinkle it around’ or whatever she says.”

“What’s _Hello, Dolly!_?” Harry asked, obviously overhearing their conversation. Zayn was a little embarrassed. He didn’t really want everyone to know how much of a charity case he was, but Zayn was too happy that Niall had said he wanted to buy him a snack to care as much as he should have.

“It’s, like, this movie with Barbra Striesand and Michael Crawford.”

“Who are they?”

“Funny Girl and the Phantom of the Opera.”

Louis snorted. “Niall, you spend too much time watching TV with your mom,” he replied, and Niall made an upset noise right in Zayn’s ear.

“Hey, that’s not fair! My mom is a nice lady, and you like musicals. You say all the time how you wanna try out for one of the school ones. Musicals are for everybody, not just me and my mom.”

Louis made a grumbling noise, but before he could say something sassy in response, Liam cut in. “Look, we’re here!” he announced, leaping forward to hold the door to the ice cream parlor open for his friends. Zayn was sure to thank him as he walked in, and Niall scrambled off his back.

“What do you want?” Niall asked, pulling some crumbled bills out of his pocket.

Zayn flushed. He didn’t want Niall to have to spend too much on him, so he decided to play down his hunger and ask for something small. “A vanilla kiddie cone, please, if that’s okay,” he asked politely.

“Right,” Niall answered, queuing himself behind the other boys, while Zayn tried to be useful by saving a table big enough to hold him and his friends. When Niall did come over, he wasn’t holding the right thing.

“Niall, that’s huge,” Zayn replied, arching an eyebrow.

Niall shrugged. “You’ll eat it,” he replied, and Zayn nodded because he probably would. He loved ice cream, especially vanilla as lame as it was. He grabbed his cone from Niall after thanking him and started licking away the drips that were already forming.

“Are you feeling better?” Liam asked Harry as the overheated tween all but attacked his pistachio ice cream cone. (Somehow it was fittingly quirky that Harry had ordered a flavor that was bright green and tasted like nuts.)

“Much,” he replied, mouth messy and green.

“Liam, you always get boring flavors,” Louis pointed out.

“Louis, you always get rainbow. That’s just vanilla with food dye,” Liam complained.

“It’s better than moose tracks.”

“ _Everybody_ likes moose tracks! And anyway, why are you picking on me? Zayn picked vanilla, that’s the most boring flavor there is.”

Louis’s nostrils flared, and he took a slow, calculating mouthful of his ice cream. He locked eyes with Liam and gave him a pointed look. “Zayn doesn’t need any crap. You, however, order moose tracks ice cream and think it makes you original.”

Liam’s eyes clicked in understanding, and Zayn knew what was going on. Louis didn’t bug him about anything because he felt bad for him. Meanwhile, Liam’s life was near perfect, so Louis felt like he could take it. Once again, he couldn’t help but be embarrassed, until Niall kicked his shin under the table.

Zayn looked over at the blond only to find him smiling. “After this, I think we should all hide out in Louis’s basement,” Niall said, graciously changing the subject. “I wanna play Mario Kart, and also it’s super cool down there, so that’s good.”

“Yeah, Louis, let’s go to your house!” Harry chirped, and Zayn let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Finally, the focus was off of him.

“Okay,” Louis agreed, pulling out his flip phone. “Lemme just call and ask? Cause sometimes my sisters all have friends over, and then my mom gets upset when I invite more people, you know?”

Louis left the table to talk to his mom, and Zayn ate his ice cream quietly. However, it was difficult to mind his own business when Liam was staring hard at the side of his head. “What?” he eventually asked, making eye contact.

“It’s just… Louis really cares about you, and… we all do, really, you know? Like… you could talk to us about stuff if you wanted,” he offered.

“Yeah, Zayn, you can talk to us!” Harry agreed happily, seemingly excited about the idea. Zayn smiled at his friends before his eyes flickered over to Niall.

“Yeah,” the blond agreed softly. Normally Niall was so loud and exuberant, but now, the way he was looking at Zayn…

“Thank you,” Zayn replied, equally as quiet. His friends meant so much to him. Someday, Zayn would make an effort to tell them. But for now, he was most comfortable eating ice cream, playing video games, and putting his home life behind him for an hour or two.

* * *

“Dinner time, boys!” Niall’s mom called upstairs. The blond looked up from their game of Guess Who and tilted his head to the side inquiringly.

“You’re staying, right?” he asked. Zayn wrung his hands together. Every time he came over to Niall’s house, his mom offered to let him stay for dinner. It was nice, especially when Zayn probably only had cheese whiz and crackers at his house, but he sometimes felt like he was abusing Mrs. Horan’s hospitality.

“If that’s okay with you,” he answered, giving Niall an opportunity to tell him to leave if he wanted to.

“Of course, of course! It’s Tuesday, so that means it’s sausage sandwich night. You like those right? Remember, the ones with the peppers and the onions?” he asked, standing up and dusting his hands off on his pants. Zayn grinned.

“Yeah, Niall. I’m pretty sure I’ve been here every Tuesday for the past month,” he replied. He could almost cry about it, he was so thankful, but he kept his grin plastered up on his face instead.

“Okay, good,” Niall said, extending a hand to help him up from the ground.

Zayn got up the floor and followed him downstairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Horan stopped him, however, before he could make it to the table. She lightly cupped his chin and examined the side of his face. “Zayn, sweetheart, what happened to your cheek?” she questioned, seemingly distressed.

Zayn paled a little bit, but he didn’t let the expression on his face change. People had been asking him the same question all day, so he was prepared. He didn’t even squirm. “I don’t know, really. I think I slept on it weird,” he admitted, hoping he wouldn’t be caught in a lie.

“It’s bright red,” she replied, and Zayn shrugged, not sure what to tell her. Eventually she just sighed. “All right, scamp, sit down so we can pray,” she said, playfully swatting him in the leg with her kitchen towel, and Zayn beamed, running off to sit next to Niall.

The family said grace, and Zayn held out his plate to be served.

“How was school today?” Mr. Horan asked Zayn.

“Good! We got to use the Bunsen burners during science today!” he exclaimed, practically preening under the positive attention from an adult. He loved staying at the Horan’s for dinner. Niall’s parents always asked him about how he was doing and how he was feeling. It was the closest thing Zayn had experienced to a family dinner since his mom and dad started fighting.

“Oh, that’s good! You’ve been telling us a lot about your science class, lately. Do you think you want to do experiments when you grow up?” Mrs. Horan asked, and Zayn shook his head.

“No, I don’t like the measuring part.”

“Neither do I,” Mrs. Horan agreed with a wink. “I never measure anything while I’m cooking, I just throw it all together.”

“And Niall, Greg. How was school for the two of you?” Mr. Horan asked, shifting gears. Greg was older and therefore more grumpy. He quickly responded with a ‘fine’ before going back to shoveling Brussels sprouts into his mouth so he could leave the table. Meanwhile, Niall blathered everyone’s ear off about his day. Zayn had been there for all of it, though, so he couldn’t help but tune out.

For not measuring anything, Mrs. Horan’s cooking was incredible. Zayn wasn’t sure if he felt like that because he was hungry, or because she was a great chef. Probably both.

Eating with the Horans was like living in a dream. They were so kind to each other. Mrs. Horan was always there for Niall when he needed it, and Mr. Horan had never once raised his voice or a hand towards his family. The fact that they extended that same love and care towards Zayn was amazing. Again, Zayn had to swallow a lump in his throat as he tried not to cry with gratefulness.

Zayn’s life was so dark. Being at Niall’s house brought him rest from all the fear and sadness in his day; after all, this was a real home.

Sometimes, Zayn couldn’t help but wish he was a true part of it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really not sold on this chapter, but it's been forever so I'm posting it.

Zayn was thirteen the first time his dad truly beat him up.

He was minding his own business, drawing at the kitchen table, when he heard his dad attempted to stagger in through the back door. The scratching sound of his father's key missing the lock over and over proved he was drunk, and more so than usual. As Zayn turned to look at him, he was greeted by a fist slamming into his nose.

He heard a loud crunch, and Zayn's hands instantly went up to cover his nose. Blood oozed between his fingers. As Zayn saw stars, he could barely make out the sound of his father screaming at him, his words muffled as Zayn focused more on not passing out than on his drunk father saying drunken things.

Zayn was nearly teetering off of his chair, but that didn't stop his father from hitting him again, this time on the back of the head. The action flung his body forward. Even as he hit the ground hard, Zayn remained unaware of everything happening to him outside of his broken, bleeding nose.

"Dad, wha-" His words were cut off as his father kicked him in the stomach.

"Shut up.  _Shut_ up. Who gave you permission to speak, you goddamn _fag?!"_ his father shouted at him as Zayn lay disoriented on the floor. He was used to getting beaten to some degree. He was used to tight hands forming bruises as they gripped at his arms, and he was used to punches to the gut when he did something wrong. Even a slap in the face every now and then wasn't out of question, but he'd never been beaten like this.

Confused, pain-filled screams fell from Zayn's lips as the toe of his father's boot stabbed him repeatedly in the side, and they continued long after his father had stumbled out of the room. In fact, Zayn wasn't sure when the abuse ended, he just knew that the pain in his stomach was near unbearable.

The pressure that the injuries had left on his diaphragm left Zayn coughing. He couldn't tell if the blood splattering his hands was from his nose or his lungs as he hacked away. Maybe he should go to the hospital.

Maybe he should tell someone about his dad.

Zayn rolled over to his other side and wept into the kitchen tile. As much as he wanted to abuse to stop, he also didn't want to be taken from his dad. Maybe they didn't get along, and maybe Zayn preferred his house silent compared to loud, but at least his dad was constant. At least his dad was always there.

At least he had someone who provided for him, and made sure he had a bed to sleep in, and didn't mind when he spent his afternoons with Niall instead of in his room. Zayn couldn't imagine being on his own without anyone in the world to look after him. He already lost his mom, he couldn't handle losing another parent.

So Zayn stayed on the floor, weeping and weeping and coughing and coughing, until eventually he stood up on shaky legs. He would tell the boys and his teachers at school that he fell off his bike or fell from a tree. No one would have to know.

* * *

 

"Niall, will you pass me the salt?" Harry asked, voice cracking. A blush coated his cheeks. Fortunately for him, the boys had made a pact long ago not to laugh at anyone's twanging vocal chords. All of their voices were changing, and it would take an awful lot of laughing to keep up with all of their squeaks and wavers.

"Harry, you're so gross," Niall said, even as he passed the shaker over, "You put too much salt on everything."

"French fries are supposed to be salty," Harry complained. His voice was starting to get deeper, which Zayn found strange. Sometimes he had to look at Harry speaking in order to recognize that he was the one talking; he sounded so different.

"Not  _that_  salty," he piped up, agreeing with Niall. The blond turned in his seat to grin at Zayn. Niall had just gotten braces, so he tended to do more grinning than smiling. Zayn thought he was cute no matter what.

"Shhhhh, stop talking to me, eat your cheeseburger," Harry whined.

They'd gone out to Buddy Burger's after school. Louis liked it for its sweet potato fries, Liam liked it for its milkshakes, and all the boys liked it for its burgers.

Except Liam didn't get a milkshake today. Or a burger. Instead of eating and being obnoxious with his friends, he was bent over with his cheek resting against the table.

Liam let out a loud groan. Zayn reached out to rub a hand up and down Liam's back as comfortingly as he could.

Louis smacked his cup down on the counter. "That's it," he demanded, leaning over the table and poking at Liam's cheek. "Why are you moping, Liam? What's got you so grumpy?" he questioned in his annoying 'interrogator' voice. Even though he was being as irritating and loud as usual, anyone who knew Louis could see the worry in his eye.

"I don't wanna talk about it," Liam whined. His voice cracked. Zayn couldn't tell if it was because of his voice changing or because he was about to cry.

"But Liam…" Harry said, biting his lip and wincing as he searched for words. "Louis is right, you're all sad and peely-wally. And we're your best friends. You're supposed to talk to us."

Liam merely huffed out a sigh.

Zayn rubbed his back a little more gently, ignoring the way the action sent pain searing through his shoulder. (His dad had nearly ripped his arm out of its socket when he dragged him to the kitchen to reorganize the cabinets last night.)

Zayn's gentle touch seems to be what drags the truth out of Liam. "Dani and I broke up," he murmured into the crook of his elbow as he hid face in his arms. Zayn's hand stilled as he realized Liam's body was shaking. He didn't appear to be crying, though.

Still, a hug seemed like the best option, so Zayn doubled himself in half to give Liam's slumped figure a squeeze. He stayed there, arms snaked around Liam's waist and his head resting on his shoulder blade.

Zayn only moved when Liam gathered up the courage to sit up and talk about what had happened. "It was like… it was so crazy. But apparently she doesn't think our schedules 'link up' or something this year? Like she was all 'I'm not seeing you enough' when she broke up with me," he explained. You could see a wave of hurt wash over Liam as his face suddenly crumbled. "But then I come to find out that she might not be seeing me a lot, but she is seeing James. She's been seeing James like… like  _all the time_ , and she'd rather be dating him."

"Oh, Liam," Harry breathed, clambering over the table to sit in his lap. Harry smushed his cheek against Liam's. "I wouldn't want to hang out with James, I'd want to hang out with you," he promised.

Liam breathing was labored as he tried to hold back tears. "It's just… it's just I thought everything was okay? And I thought… I thought that we were fine, and I… I loved her so much, and I didn't expect this. Like she caught me in the hallway this morning, and I thought she wanted me to complement her new purple clogs, I didn't think she wanted me to stop being her boyfriend," he sniffled, clearly upset.

"Oh yeah… I hate when relationships end like that," Louis said empathetically. Liam's nose twitched.

"Well what would  _you_  know about it?" Liam asked. "You've never had a girlfriend."

Louis looked a little taken aback by Liam's tone. Normally Liam didn't argue about anything, especially not with Louis.  _No one_ argued with Louis. Even Liam looked a little shocked by the venom in his voice, but mostly he just looked sad.

"My dad…" Louis started but then trailed off. Zayn's ears perked up a bit. Louis never talked about his father, and just the fact that he had acknowledged he had one was surprising. "That's like… Well, my dad left my mom like that. For, like, another lady," he further explained, wringing his hands together.

Liam deflated. "Oh… Sorry."

Louis shrugged. "I mean, it's cool, I was like… five, so I don't really remember. Apparently it like… fucked me up for a year, which is why I'm like… in your guys' grade, but I mean… it's no big deal."

"I didn't know that," Niall piped up, flushing when four sets of heads turned towards him. "Sorry, it's just… I didn't know that about you Louis, that really sucks. And Liam, that really sucks about you and Dani. You guys must like… you must be really sad," Niall struggled to articulate. His face was pink, but his eyes were wide. While the words weren't much, you could tell just how much Niall was thinking and feeling with one look at his face.

"I mean… I mean, it's whatever," Louis said. "Sometimes, it's like… Well sometimes I miss him. It'd be nice to have the attention and stuff."

Suddenly it all made sense to Zayn. Of course Louis was loud and obnoxious most of the time, he was attention seeking. He didn't have a real dad; he just had a mom who was too busy with a million other things to dote on Louis. He must feel so lost and scared.

"I really miss Dani," Liam replied. If Zayn didn't know him as well as he did, the face Liam was making would have made Zayn think he was in pain. He looked so hurt.

And Louis looked so hurt.

And Zayn was so hurt, physically and emotionally, and before he could stop himself he spoke up. "I really miss my mom," he said. And this time he  _knew_  his voice was cracking because he was about to cry.

A million and one feelings were bottled up inside of him. He wanted to say more. He wanted to be honest and open like Liam and Louis were, but the words were all caught in his throat. There was so much weighing on his shoulders, and to talk about any of it would mean talking about all of it, and Zayn felt like he couldn't do that.

Niall's hand slipped into his.

"I'm sure your mom misses you, too," he said quietly. Zayn shook his head a little. If his mom missed him, she would be here. But she wasn't.

However, Niall's fingers laced through his were certainly enough to ease the pain a little. He had to fight every fiber in his being not to crawl into the younger boy's lap and cry in his arms for a few hours, actually. Niall didn't have to do much to make Zayn feel like opening up and being honest.

There is a lull in conversation before Louis breaks the silence. "Well, aren't we just a bunch of sad sacks?" he asks, a pleading smile on his face. "I say we finish eating, throw our homework in the trash, and go bowling tonight. We can get some color back in our cheeks."

"Perfect," Liam agreed, stealing a handful of Harry's French fries and ignoring the other boy's protests.

There was a sad atmosphere hanging around the boys for the rest of the day, but at least they were dealing with it together.

* * *

 

"What happened here?" Niall asked, tracing a bruise on Zayn's hip. Zayn was kipping over at Niall's for the night, and they were just getting into their pyjamas. He had forgotten that there was a massive bruise coating his stomach and side from the last time his dad kicked him while he was sprawled out on the floor. Fortunately, Niall noticed before Zayn could pull off his whole shirt and reveal the disgusting, molting injury.

He tugged his shirt right back down.

"Oh, um… I hit my hip on the banister at the bottom of the stairs when I was running to catch the bus," he fibbed, his ears heating up as he did so. He hated lying to Niall.

The blond boy tsked. "You're always hurting yourself. When did you get so clumsy?" he asked. He was looking up at Zayn with his big blue eyes wide and confused. It was all Zayn could do not to melt into a puddle on the floor and tell Niall everything. He so badly wanted to talk to him, to have Niall save him somehow, but it had become such a massive secret.

Nobody could know about how Zayn's father beat him. He didn't want to be taken from his house, from his school, from his friends. And further more, it was humiliating. It was so embarrassing that his dad thought he was  _this_ worthless. He didn't want anyone else to see him in the same light.

"I dunno, I think I've just been rushing around a lot, you know? Not watching my feet and tripping down the stairs, or trying to go too fast and bumping my shoulder," he said with a shrug.

Niall frowned. "Okay… Okay, well maybe try to slow down. I'm starting to get worried that you're gonna really hurt yourself one of these days," he commented. If only he knew how often Zayn  _was_  really hurt.

"Right," Zayn answered. There was an awkward pause and Zayn squirmed where he stood. "I'm… I think I'm gonna change in the bathroom," he eventually voiced, half to fill the silence and half because there was no way he could change in front of Niall now.

He walked out of the room before the blond could say anything. He felt the younger boy's caring eyes on his back as he left to change, and Zayn couldn't help but feel mixed about it. On the one hand, it was stressful that Niall was watching him so closely. He felt like he had such a big secret to keep, and it was going to get harder and harder to pass off his injuries as Niall grew more and more skeptical.

But on the other hand, it was nice that somebody cared.

* * *

 

It was weird when there were only four of them gathered together. They were known to hang out in pairs and trios, and obviously the boys spent a lot of time all together. But when there were just four of them, that meant someone was getting excluded. Four felt like an evil number because it was sad to think that someone was left stranded on their own.

However, only having four was okay today because Harry, Liam, Niall, and Zayn were all queued up to see Louis's play. The school was putting on  _Grease_ , and apparently Louis was in it. However, he hadn't told them who he was playing or how many lines he had, so as soon as the boys got their programs, they ripped them open to search for Louis's name.

"Oh, oh, oh! He's Danny!" Niall chirped as he practically bounced down the aisle while Liam lead them all to their seats. "That's the lead, guys, he's the star! I can't believe he didn't tell us that he got the main role!"

"Yeah, normally Louis loves bragging about his accomplishments," Harry said, earning laughs from his whole friend group. Harry's face split in two with a massive smile. It wasn't often that he could make everyone laugh.

"So he's gonna have to sing, huh?" Zayn asked, trying to figure out how long the play would be by reading through all the acts and scenes. He was really hoping that tonight would be one of those hang-outs-turned-sleepovers. If they were out late enough then sometimes the boys would just sleep at whoever's house was closest or the house of whoever's parent who was willing to come and get them. Zayn was all for it, considering he was only really able to sleep when he wasn't in his own home. Plus, all the other moms made breakfast, and Zayn had been going hungry a lot lately.

His dad spent all his money on alcohol, not on food.

"Yeah! There's like a bunch of songs! Now I'm all excited! Guys, our best friend in the whole wide world is playing Danny! We're so cool," Niall said, smacking Liam's arm repeatedly in excitement.

The lights flashed in the theatre and Liam quickly quieted Niall. "Shhh, the play is about to start. You've gotta be quiet."

"Yeah, well  _you've_  gotta grow your hair back," Niall said, sticking out his tongue goofily but falling silent moments later as the show went underway. They had all been making fun of Liam's hair since the other boy had gotten into Harry's mom's car to drive over to the school. Apparently, he'd shaved his head the night before with his dad's razor.

Zayn was pretty sure that you were supposed to hold your applause until the end during plays and other similar performances, but that didn't stop his friends. Practically every time Louis said a line, they would clap, and every time he'd hit a particularly good note, they'd cheer. Zayn didn't know how Louis managed to hold it together on stage with everyone hooting and hollering at him.

When the play was over, the boys made a mad dash to the hallway so they could meet up with Louis. "Great job!" Niall cheered, being the first to jump on Louis with a massive hug. He squeezed Louis so tight that the older boy winced.

"Thanks, Niall," he gasped, struggling to breathe as the blond hugged him.

"You did so great!" Harry said, nudging his way in between Niall and Louis so that he was in the center of a very touching group hug. "I was so proud of you."

"Yes, I know, I'm brilliant," Louis joked, but Zayn could tell by the gleam in his eye that the compliment really did mean a lot to him. He tilted his head to the side as he caught sight of Liam. "Wait, Lee-yum… is that you?" he asked, and Liam blushed.

"Yeah," he answered. He looked ready to receive whatever jokes and teasing Louis had in store.

"You cut your hair!"

"Yeah."

"Shaved it all off!"

Liam sighed. "Yeah."

"I like it!" Louis chirped, somehow freeing a hand from the smothering hug he was entangled in just to rub Liam's head. Liam looked surprised but otherwise happy.

"Thanks. I liked your show."

"So did I," Zayn piped up, finally finding a place to insert his voice. Sometimes it was hard to be heard when he was friends with such big personalities, but there was always a spot open for him to chime in.

Louis sent his giant smile in Zayn's direction. "You guys are all full of compliments today. I should star in plays more often," he teased. He wiggled a bit then, and Niall and Harry backed off a bit.

"Why didn't you tell us you were the lead?" Niall asked, his eyes shining with curiosity. Zayn had to look away for a minute. It was always hard to see Niall be happy with and proud of people that weren't him, for some reason, and Zayn found he had to ignore a lot of Niall's behaviors and friendships to quell the jealous feeling that rose up in the pit of his stomach.

"I dunno… I didn't… I mean…" Louis floundered. "Well, what if I messed up? Didn't want to get your guys' hopes up," he said, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly.

"But you didn't mess up. You did great," Harry replied, reaching out to hold Louis's hand. "And I think we should get ice cream to celebrate. And we'll treat, and you can ask us a billion questions and fish for whatever compliments you want, and we'll humor you as best as possible," he offered. Louis blushed with excitement.

"Okay! Okay, yeah, I'll get my stuff!" he chirped, running off to get his things, and Niall looked over to Zayn, noticing how his hands were stuffed in his empty pockets. The blond turned back to Harry to whisper in his ear. He was just loud enough that Zayn heard him, even though he didn't think he was supposed to.

"You treat for Louis, I'll treat for Zayn?" he asked, and Harry nodded.

Sometimes Zayn didn't know if he was a charity case or just well loved.

* * *

 

Niall lead Zayn up to his front porch, his hand laced up in Zayn's. "Well, this is your stop," the blond said, giving Zayn's fingers a squeeze. Niall had started holding his hand when they left school, and he hadn't let go since. The feeling of Niall's hand in his made Zayn's stomach fill up with butterflies, and he had kept up a goofy smile on his face since they left school.

"Yeah, this is my stop," Zayn said, hoping that his father wouldn't be home when he walked in the door. He knew his dad had picked up some shifts at the Seven Eleven in town, but he didn't know his hours. It was anyone's guess whether or not he would be sitting in his usual chair when Zayn stepped in through the door.

"Okay. See you later, Zayn!" Niall chirped, letting go of Zayn's hand and leaving him up on the front porch step alone. Zayn blushed.

He turned to walk into his house, but as he reached for the knob, the front door whipped open seemingly by itself. Dread filled Zayn's chest and he looked up fearfully to find his father glaring down at him. "Who was that?" he barked, voice slurring. Zayn's head swiveled towards Niall.

The blond was stopped on the driveway: turned to look at Zayn and his dad. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Zayn realized that this was the first time the two had been face to face since… since, well, ever. Zayn never let his friends come  _near_  his dad, especially not Niall. He was too delicate with his pale, easily bruised skin.

"It's just Niall, Dad, don't worry about it," he promised, holding up his hands in surrender. His dad's eyes shifted between him and Niall for a moment before he grabbed Zayn's wrist and gave it a rough tug, pulling him into the house.

"Get inside," he demanded, switching places with Zayn to stand on the front porch. "Get out of here, kid," he yelled at Niall. The younger boy peered in the house to lock eyes with Zayn, his inquiring eyes asking what he should do. Zayn shooed him away with the flick of his hand.

Tears immediately started pouring down Zayn's cheeks as Niall turned to go. "Dad… Dad what's wrong?" he asked the second the door slammed shut behind his father.

"You really are a fag aren't you?"

"What? I-"

"What were you  _thinking_?" his father snapped, interrupting his son. "No son of mine will be seen  _holding hands_ with another man."

"But, I'm-"

" _Shut up_." Zayn's whole torso curled inwards as his father punched him in the chest. He coughed as the wind was knocked out of him. " _Never_  talk back to me.  _Never._ "

Even if Zayn wanted to talk, he couldn't. He stood there, rubbing his chest to try to get his lungs to work again, but nothing he did seemed to help him breathe. "S-sorry," he choked out, hoping his dad would hear his apology and let him leave without further injury. Unfortunately, his dad didn't see his response as submissive as Zayn intended it, but rather saw it as another act of defiance.

"God, why won't you learn to just  _stop talking_?" his father shouted, drilling his knee into Zayn's stomach over and over as Zayn bent over to try to force some air into his lungs. His father punctuated each blow with a different insult. "Disgusting… Cock sucking... homo… anal whore… You sick, sick piece of trash," he spat. His fingers laced into Zayn's hair and pulled. Zayn felt his whole head whip to the side and collide with the stair banister.

His father continued to scream at him, while Zayn hesitantly slipped to the floor. He cried achingly and held his knees to his chest as insult after insult was hurled at him and his broken body.

As much as he tried to deny it, Zayn really was in love with Niall even though he was a boy. He loved him. He loved him. He loved him so much, and this was the worst way to realize it.

Zayn was gay, and that was a bad thing.

He loved Niall, and that was a bad thing.

He would never be able to change his feelings, and that was worst of all.

* * *

 

"Knock knock!"

"Whose there?"

"Canoe!"

"Canoe who?"

"Canoe do me a favor and laugh at this joke?" Niall asked, looking hopeful.

Zayn just snorted. "Funny," he replied, looking back down at the drawing he was working on. He was actually trying to finish his work at art club -like he was supposed to- for once, if only to avoid having to look at Niall. It had been hard to talk to him lately. Like… like so hard.

Zayn felt all of these big things for Niall, and he knew they were wrong. Or at least, his dad said they were wrong. Whenever Zayn and his father were in the same house, he was constantly bombarded with lectures about how disgusting he was for what he did with Niall and how horrible he was to have the feelings he did for him.

Never mind that his father didn't know anything about his relationship with Niall. Never mind that Zayn had never kissed him, let alone allowed Niall to fuck him, like his dad liked to imply. Never mind that Zayn was just thirteen and he didn't know enough about sex to have it yet. His dad told him that he was gross, and sick, and wrong, and now he couldn't meet Niall's eye.

"Zayn, are you mad at me or what?" Niall asked after an almost unbearably long silence. Zayn looked up at him, horrified, and then quickly shook his head. No, of course not; he could never be mad at Niall. He had the biggest crush in the world on Niall, and he was a terrible person because of it. "Okay, well then why are you acting so weird?"

"I'm not acting weird," Zayn mumbled, ducking his head to avoid Niall's eye. He rubbed at his picture a little to smudge the pencil lines.

"But you are. You  _are_  acting weird, and like… you haven't come over once this week. Not even once. And you don't talk to me at all. And you don't listen to me, or laugh at my jokes, or even… even sit next to me, and you usually do all of those things. Why aren't you doing any of those things?"

Zayn just shrugged.

There was another agonizingly long bout of silence before Niall huffed. "Fine," he said, standing up and grabbing his things. "When you figure it out, you can find me sitting over at Holly's table," he said. Zayn watched as Niall left to sit with other people: other  _better_  people.

Zayn raised his hand. "Can I go to the bathroom?" he asked their instructor. The second he got a yes, he ran off and locked himself in a stall just as he started to cry. Life was starting to become unbearable, and Zayn didn't know how much longer he would be able to put up with it.

* * *

 

Zayn had started sneaking into his own home. He had stopped walking home with Niall, so there was no one there to question his behavior as he slowly and silently opened the front door and tiptoed into the house. He would turn the knob excruciatingly slowly in the lock, and then he would slink up the stairs as quietly as possible before locking himself in his room. With this method, Zayn had been able to avoid seeing or talking to his father almost all together.

However, sometimes he wasn't successful.

Zayn had just made it into the house, when a hand came out of nowhere and slammed him into the wall. "Try not to suck any dick while I'm at work, pig," his dad spat on his way out the door.

While the action had seemed casual to his father, it had been terrifying for Zayn. He wasn't even that hurt –or hurt at all, really- but the brutal greeting still sent Zayn into a blind panic. He slunk to the floor.

Once again, he felt like he was caught in this never-ending cycle of terror. He couldn't breath, so he panicked, and the more he panicked, the more he couldn't breath, and the more he couldn't breathe, the more he panicked, and  _seriously_ , why did this keep  _happening_  to him?

It hadn't even been that  _bad_ , he kept trying to reassure himself. Sure, his dad had been mean. Sure, he had been knocked around a little and what his father had said had hurt his feelings. But this reaction was over the top and unnecessary.

He didn't know why he kept panicking like this. He was starting to worry about his mental health because obviously something was wrong, even if he didn't know what.

Eventually, Zayn calmed down enough to crawl into his room. He looked at the pictures cluttering the walls –some new and some old- before promptly bursting into tears again; although, this time for different reasons.

He grabbed his comforter off his bed and huddled up in his closet with it. He didn't know how long he spent there, wrapped up in the dark, but when he came out, the sun was out and he was late for school. He must have fallen asleep.

Zayn stretched his cramped, aching legs and prayed for better days.

* * *

 

Zayn could feel the tension overtaking his friend group, even when the movie started playing. They were all squeezed onto Liam's couch. Zayn was at one end –the arm of the sofa digging into his most recent bruise- and Niall was at the other.

It was clear to everyone that Zayn was avoiding Niall for some reason, but he had yet to tell anyone why. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see all the boys leaning over to look at him, but he refused to meet their stares. They couldn't know. They couldn't know how repulsive Zayn was; he knew they would all hate him for it. They all were straight; they liked girls. No one but Zayn liked boys, and he was disgusting for it.

So he stayed quiet, his mouth all taped up as the film played and the boys stewed in curiosity. "I think I'm going to go home," Niall spoke up out of nowhere. Zayn looked over at him, noticing the upset, confused look on the blonde's face. He hid face in his elbows immediately after, though, not wanting Niall to see how heartbroken he was. It was so painful to see the boy he cared about so much and know that nothing was ever going to happen between them.

After all, Niall was good, and sweet, and pure, and perfect. He could never like boys, never in a million years. He wasn't disgusting like Zayn.

"Aw, Nialler, don't go," Louis whined. "You're the second funniest, we'd be lost without you."

"Second funniest after who?" Harry asked.

"Me," Louis replied, looking at Harry as if it was meant to be obvious.

"No, no… I mean… things are awkward, and it's not going to get better unless Zayn or I leave, and I think… I think it would be best if Zayn stayed here," he said, calling attention to the elephant in the room and causing everyone's cheeks to turn pink, especially Zayn's. Fortunately, he was already hiding his face so no one could see how embarrassed he was. Niall was always looking after him and showing concern for his home life, even when they were fighting.

"Well then, I'll come with you," Louis piped up, obviously aware that Niall probably needed a friend. The blond smiled weakly, and once again, Zayn found himself humiliated.

There was an awkward period where all of the boys were saying goodbye except for Zayn. Zayn just sat on the couch, hugging a pillow to his chest and trying to look at anything but his friends.

The movie was put on pause, and when Harry and Liam sat back down Zayn figured they would play it again, but after awhile it became clear that they were putting the movie on hold right now.

"Zayn…" Liam said, trying to get him to talk, but Zayn kept his mouth shut. "Come on, man. Niall's obviously upset, the least you could do is tell him why you're not talking to him." Zayn still didn't say anything. "Is it something he did? Cause I think he'd say sorry in a heartbeat if he did something wrong, he just doesn't know what it is."

"He didn't do anything wrong," Zayn murmured into the pillow. He was adamant that Niall wasn't blamed for any of this. It was all Zayn's fault; he was the one who was doing everything wrong.

"Okay, then what's going on with you? Why aren't you talking to him?" Liam questioned, while Harry looked between him and Zayn hopelessly. He seemed lost.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"But you  _need_  to talk about it. This isn't fair to  _any_ of us, yeah? We like you  _and_  Niall. How are we all supposed to hang out together if you two are having issues?" Liam asked pointedly, scratching his head as if he was trying to figure out the answer to his own question. Zayn huffed.

"S'just… s'just… I don't want to talk about it."

"You said that already," Liam sighed.

"Can't you at least tell us  _why_  you don't want to talk about it?" Harry piped up, tilting his head to the side inquiringly. Zayn squeezed onto his couch cushion tighter.

"It's just… It's embarrassing," he explained.

"Why?"

"Cause… cause I'm different."

"Why?"

"I dunno, I just am."

"But how?" Harry pried, his head tilting further and further to the side with every question.

"Just like… I dunno. I dunno, stop asking," Zayn begged, feeling overwhelmed. He really didn't want to admit his feelings for Niall. He didn't want them to be made that much more real. He didn't want his friends to judge him or make fun of him; they were the only people he had left who cared about him. He couldn't lose them, too.

"Zayn," Liam piped up. "We're your best friends, yeah? Nothing you say tell us could ever be embarrassing cause we'd never judge you, or make fun of you, or anything," Liam explained, furrowing his brow. Zayn looked up at him hopefully.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

He looked at Harry. "Nothing?" he asked again, this time to the curlier of the two.

"Nothing," Harry agreed with a big nod of his head.

Zayn took a deep breath. "Okay… Well… I'm not… I'm not totally sure yet, and I don't want to, and I think I would like to change my mind about it all once I figure out how, but… But I think I like… Or, I  _don't_  think I like girls," Zayn explained in the only way he knew how, by covering his tracks.

Harry's nose wrinkled up as he tried to understand what Zayn was implying. "So you don't like girls… Do you like boys?" Zayn nodded once. "Then… Then do you like Niall?"

Zayn nodded again before begging his friends to keep it a secret. "But you can't tell him, okay? You can't tell him. Please don't tell him. He's gonna hate me, he's gonna hate me, you can't tell him at all  _ever_ ," he pleaded, anxiety washing over him. He never should have said anything. He never should have opened his mouth or even come here in the first place.

Zayn held his arms up in defense as Liam shifted in his seat. "Relax, we won't tell him… But you probably should."

Zayn's arms dropped. "What?  _Why?_ "

"Because that's probably a good thing for him to know. Then if he likes you back, you guys can like… I dunno, do whatever. And if he doesn't then you can just move on."

"But I already  _know_  he doesn't," Zayn replied. "I know he doesn't, I'm already… I don't want to like him, I don't want to like any guy ever, I'm already trying to stop," he explained, wringing his hands together frantically. Harry shook his head.

"That's not how it works," he replied. Zayn glared.

"Yeah? And how would you know?"

"My cousin is gay, and he says that it's just how you're born." Zayn must have looked ridiculously distressed by that new piece of information because Harry quickly reached out to rub his arm comfortingly. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay to be gay, Zayn. My cousin –Jonathan- is like… totally happy and fine. You'll be happy and fine, too."

Zayn pressed his lips together and shook his head. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees while his hands covered his mouth. He closed his eyes and tears leaked down his cheeks. Liam made a tutting noise.

"Zayn… Zayn, it's okay. You're okay. Most like guys like girls, but not all of them. There are lots of people like you; you're okay."

Zayn took a deep, shuddering breath. "You can't tell anyone," he demanded. It didn't matter what the boys said, he still wasn't okay with it. He would  _never_  be okay with it. As far as Zayn was concerned, this was just a phase and he'd get over it.

"Zayn-"

"You can't tell  _anyone_ ," Zayn demanded. He looked down at his socks and curled his toes. "Can… can we just watch the movie now?" he begged and Liam sighed before clicking it on. Meanwhile, Harry's arms wrapped around Zayn and pulled him into a hug. "I don't wanna lose him," he mumbled against Harry's t-shirt.

"I understand. I promise I won't tell, and Liam won't either," he said reassuringly. Zayn let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. It was a lot to ask –to have Harry and Liam keep such a huge secret from the other boys- and he was more than grateful they had agreed to it. He had needed them to.

* * *

 

"So, guess what, guess what!" Niall chirped as he approached the lunch table, looking at all the boys except for Zayn.

Harry took the bite. "What?" he asked. Niall jumped at least three feet in the air in excitement.

"Barbra totally asked me out today. Isn't that crazy? Like she wants me to sit at her lunch table and everything!" he said excitedly. Louis stood up and gave him a giant high five.

"Nice, man!" Louis exclaimed. "She's got the biggest tits in the eighth grade!"

"Ew, Louis, gross," Harry said, giving him a shove. Louis just laughed, while Niall looked like he couldn't stop smiling. That was maybe the worst part of it for Zayn: how often Niall smiled, even though they weren't talking. Zayn was nothing but miserable without Niall, but the blond seemed to be… coping. Maybe he didn't care as much as Zayn thought he did.

"Right. Well," Niall said, switching the subject, "I'm gonna go over there and sit with her. See you guys after school, okay?" he asked, laughing when all the boys –minus Zayn- agreed and patted him on the back while he left.

"He's going out with a girl?" Zayn squeaked, his eyes wide and upset. Harry was the first one to catch on, what with how empathetic and caring he tended to be. His shoulders deflated a little bit for Zayn.

"Oh, no, Zayn…" he said sadly, a frown taking over his whole face. Meanwhile, Zayn's breathing started to pick up. He was so, so  _sick_ of hyperventilating, it was ridiculous.

"See? See? I told you… I told you…"  _I told you he would never like me._ Zayn couldn't say that out loud, though. After all, this was a lunchroom; there were people everywhere. The last thing he wanted was for someone to overhear and then tell Niall he had a crush on him.

"Don't worry, Zayn," Liam said, patting Zayn's back for a second before switching to rubbing up and down his spine. "I'm sure it won't last long, you know? Niall doesn't have much of an attention span, it'll be okay."

Zayn shook his head, but he couldn't respond. He was panicking too much to breathe: much less speak. Meanwhile, Harry and Liam frantically tried to calm him down by lying to him about how he could still have hope and how things could still end out okay. Louis just sat there looking confused.

"I'm… I'm going to the bathroom," Zayn said, and he meant it. He stood up and left his backpack behind him as he heading out the cafeteria doors.

However, he didn't stop at the bathroom. Instead he kept walking, past the woodshop, past the art rooms, and past the history wing until he found the emergency exit in the far stairwell. He didn't think about anything but needing to get some air as he left the building.

When the door clicked closed behind him, Zayn realized he was trapped outside. He rubbed his nose off on his sleeve and decided to walk for a while. Zayn needed a getaway anyways, even if it only consisted of walking home and locking himself in his room.

* * *

 

The phone rang, and Zayn's dad wasn't home so he answered it. "Hello?" he said, his voice clogged and stuffy with allergies.

"I heard you got detention."

_Niall._

"You left school?" the younger boy asked over the line when Zayn didn't say anything for a moment. He wasn't trying to be rude, he was just surprised that Niall had cared enough to call: that he had bothered to learn Zayn had gotten in trouble in the first place.

"I mean… yeah," he replied.

"That's not like you." Zayn didn't argue. It definitely  _wasn't_  like him. Normally, Zayn tried to listen to everyone and obey his elders out of sheer necessity. It had been a massive lack of judgment for him. "Louis says you were crying and nobody knows why… I wish I had been there, you know? Even if we're fighting or something, I like… I was worried when I heard."

"Oh," Zayn answered, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He could practically picture Niall standing in his kitchen, toying with the phone's cord as they talked.

"It's like… you never tell people when or why you're upset, Zayn. You have to start doing that. Otherwise no one will know what to do to help you," Niall said. His voice was hushed, as if he was trying to keep his family members from overhearing their conversation.

"I guess."

There was a long, long pause and Niall was the one to break it.

"Zayn?" Niall said, and Zayn bit his lip.

"What?"

"Can we just start talking again?"

"I mean-"

"Because… because Barbra only wanted to date me to make this other kid Luke jealous, and I was so excited to actually have a girlfriend for once, and now I don't have one anymore, and I feel… I feel so stupid, and obviously you're having a hard time, too, and it's like…" Niall trailed of. "I need you. And I miss you needing me…. Or at least, I think you need me? I dunno, but this is so… it's so stupid, Zayn, I wanna be talking again. Can't we just start talking again? Please?" Niall asked. It was heart wrenching to hear someone he loved so much sound so sad, and Zayn found himself nodding before he realized Niall couldn't see him.

"We can," Zayn agreed. He was pretty tired of avoiding Niall, too. And while, yes, he was humiliated by his crush on the other boy, he at least knew that there was no chance that he and Niall would ever be together. Now he could quietly pine from afar and move on. "I'm sorry about Barbra. She doesn't deserve your time or thought, okay? If she can't treat you the way you deserve, then you shouldn't worry about her, you know?"

Niall sniffed over the phone. "See? You always know just what to say. I need you to talk to me."

The words made Zayn's stomach twist. Niall didn't need him. He didn't need him in the same way Zayn needed him, and he didn't need him to make himself happy. "Don't say stuff like that," Zayn replied with a huff.

"Why?"

"I dunno."

"Why did you even stop talking to me in the first place?"

"I dunno."

"Well you must know something," Niall said, sounding frustrated. "It's like… my whole family keeps asking me where you've gone, and I don't know what to tell them. And I miss you so much, and I miss our sleepovers, and art club is so stupid when I can't hang out and laugh with you, and like… It can't all be because of nothing, you know? So what happened."

Zayn kicked at the kitchen cabinet a little bit as he figured out the right words to say. He chewed on his bottom lip. "… I was scared," he eventually answered.

"Scared?"

"Yeah."

"Scared of what?"

Zayn let out a huff of air, not sure what to say. Mostly he just felt like crying. This was the longest talk he had held with Niall in weeks, and he wished it could be about happier things. He wished he could just feel better already. "Scared of you hating me... Cause… Cause, well I dunno, Niall, I feel like I'm always clinging onto you and stuff. That must be annoying, right?" he asked, squirming and praying that Niall would say no. Dear God,  _please_  let Niall say no _._

"Of course not, Zayn, that's what friends do. Especially when they're as close as we're supposed to be," Niall replied, sounding exasperated. His voice also sounded strained for other reasons, and Zayn realized just how upset Niall must be. This Barbra thing was hitting him hard, and all of Zayn's secrecy obviously wasn't helping.

"Okay… Okay, well, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just… It's just I don't want you to be mad at me, and I don't want to lose you, and I'm so scared, and I dunno."

"Zayn, we're going to be friends forever, okay? I promise. The only way we'd stop being tight and stuff is if you refuse to talk to me, you know? Cause as long as we're talking, we can be friends."

"Promise?" Zayn asked, hoping that Niall meant it: that he knew just how much he was promising to.

"Promise," Niall swore. There was a beat before Niall spoke up again. "Okay. Well. With that settled, my mom is making lasagna tonight, and I was wondering if you would like to come over. We could play like… super bloody video games and like… my dad said we could shoot some stuff with Greg's BB gun in the backyard and stuff."

"Just like the regular 'getting over a girl' stuff, huh?" Zayn asked, causing Niall to laugh loudly right in the phone. He winced, but he didn't dare move the speaker away from his ear, too delighted to hear Niall's laugh again to lessen it in any way possible.

"Yeah, I guess!" Niall replied happily. "Is that a yes?"

"It's a yes," Zayn agreed.

"Good! We'll swing by to pick you up in a half hour!" Niall hug up the phone and Zayn put his own back in the receiver. He had a feeling that things might be awkward for a little while, but that would be okay. Because as long as he and Niall were talking, they would stay friends: no matter what else happened.

* * *

 

"And then you pour this, and then you add this, and then you sprinkle this, and then you stick it in here, and you set the timer, and that's how you make a good pizza," Harry said, whizzing through the instructions much too quickly for any of the other boys to catch up. Harry had gotten really good at cooking, lately. It was his new favorite hobby, but unfortunately, none of his friends shared his talents.

"So first the sauce?" Liam asked, his big brown eyes looking up in confusion. Harry sighed and began to re-explain, using another pizza crust as an example. There was a shortage of pizza dough, though, so while Harry, Liam, Louis and Zayn tried to cook, Niall just smeared all the sauce, cheese and toppings on Zayn's cheek and arm.

Needless to say, things had gone back to normal, or at least as normal as they could be when it came to their friend group. Zayn and Niall were back on all but perfect terms, and the five of them could all hang out without any major incident.

Aside from the fresh bruises hidden beneath Zayn's clothes, everything was okay.

"I'm gonna eat seven slices," Niall declared.

Harry frowned. "No," he replied. "There four pieces with eight slices each. That means you get to have six slices," he said, using his fingers in order to do the math. Niall merely smirked at that.

"Fine, I'll have seven slices, and then another six."

Harry squawked. "But then there will only be-" One again, Harry stuck up his fingers in order to keep track of all the slices Niall would and wouldn't eat. He gasped. "Then there'd only be nineteen for the four of us to split, Niall! That's not fair!"

"Okay, so I'll have the seven, the six, and another four."

"Niall, no!"

Zayn laughed and sat back in his chair, focusing less on Niall messing with Harry and instead carefully arranging green peppers as artfully as he could on his pizza. He was just happy to have a break. Life had been so stressful lately, and it was good to do nothing but cook dinner and hang out with his friends. Especially Niall. Zayn had  _so missed_  hanging out with Niall. Eighth grade had been absolutely miserable without him.

Hopefully ninth grade would be much better.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hardest part about writing these is remember what was out when I was a freshman in high school. Like what movies were popular and what video games were important. It's crazy stuff, man.

Zayn was fourteen the first time his dad sent him to the hospital.

He didn't know what he had done to deserve such a brutal beating. It was starting to feel like his punishments weren't really punishments at all; just walking in the door was enough to make his dad go ballistic. It was all so random and terrifying. Every time Zayn's bruises yellowed, his dad would coat his body with new purple ones for no reason.

It was all starting to blend together; each time he was beaten his dad basically did and said the same things. However, this time it had a different ending.

The old man had kicked at his shins and hit him until he had fallen to the ground, which was pretty typical. His dad had struck his ribs with his boots until Zayn was coughing and crying, just like usual. But then things broke away from the norm. The drunken man stepped on his elbow and grabbed his wrist.

At first Zayn had been confused, but then his dad started pulling on his arm. A loud cracking sound filled the room, and a look of horror washed over his dad's face. That was when the pain hit.

Zayn's breathing picked up and he looked to his quickly sobering father. "What… What do we do?" he wheezed, anxiety starting to get the better of him. His arm was broken. His arm was  _broken._

His dad stood up, wiping his hands off on his jeans. "We… we need to take you to the hospital," he realized. His face suddenly hardened again and he reached out to grab Zayn's chin. Zayn squeaked as the man's fingers clamped down and his jaw made a creaking sound. "You will  _not_  tell them what happened. This is  _our_  little secret. Got it?" his dad asked, letting him go but not without a shove.

Zayn curled into the fetal position, his chest heaving and his heart pounding. "What… what… d-do… do I say?" he panted.

His father's features set into something hard and serious. "Tell them… Tell them you fell off your bike." Zayn didn't respond, just gagged a little due to the pain in his ribs and how hard it was to breathe. His father glared at him. "Well, c'mon, get up," he ordered. But Zayn couldn't. He could get up. Not with his arm and his ribs hurting like they did and his anxiety through the roof. " _Get up_ ," his dad repeated. He started swearing when Zayn didn't move and threw him over his shoulder.

He carried him out to the car and threw him into the passenger seat. Zayn curled his knees to his chest, his broken arm cradled in between his legs and torso. His eyes were wide and terrified as he hyperventilated.

"Shut up," his dad demanded, smacking his bad arm, and Zayn doubled over. He tried to breathe as quietly as he could on the way to the hospital. This was the worst. This was the worst day of his life, and it only got more and more awful as the nurses pestered him with questions about the bruises littering his skin and  _how_  –exactly- he broke his arm and ribs.

Zayn did his best to keep his eyes closed and think of other things. No matter what he did, his thoughts always seemed to fall on a shock of blond hair and the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

* * *

"Zayn, Zayn!" a familiar voice called through the school hallway. Zayn shut his eyes feeling nervous. He wasn't ready to face his friends yet; he thought he would at  _least_  have until lunch to figure out what he wanted to say. "Zayn! Zayn, guess wha-  _Woah_. What happened to your  _arm?!"_ Harry asked.

Sometimes, Zayn loved how caring and sympathetic Harry could be. It often felt like no one gave a crap about him, so when Harry showed that he loved him, it meant so much to Zayn: so unbelievably much.

But it was also stressful. Because Harry was invested in much the same way that Niall was. He was always trying to piece things together and figure out what was wrong with Zayn. It was taxing. Sometimes it felt like Zayn had too many secrets to be friends with Harry.

"I, um… I, um…" Zayn started fidgeting. He was frazzled, and he knew Harry could tell. "I fell off my bike," he eventually said. He always gave the same excuses; they were wearing thin. Harry seemed to take it all in stride, though, and just cooed at him while he dragged him to homeroom.

"That's so sad, Zayn. Maybe you shouldn't ride that thing anymore, you're not very good at it," he replied. Sometimes Harry could be accidentally insulting when he was trying to take care of people. "Does it hurt? Are you okay? Is it hard to get stuff done?" he asked.

Zayn shook his head. "No… no, it's fine. It doesn't hurt or anything, it's just… it was a bit hard to get my shirt on this morning? But only cause it's kind of chunky," he explained, gesturing to his thick cast. If he couldn't be honest about how it happened, he could be honest about how it felt.

"That's annoying," Harry replied, crinkling his nose. "I'm so sorry for you. Here, let me take your backpack," he offered.

Before Zayn could protest, Harry had taken Zayn's book bag. Zayn had no idea how Harry had found out where his homeroom was; he had only mentioned it to Niall. High school was a lot different than middle school, and the boys hadn't worked out a rhythm yet. Niall was the only person he had hung out with so far, but he was sure he'd get to spend some time with the other guys soon. It was only the first week of school after all.

Maybe Niall and Harry had talked about him or something.

"Okay, here we are," Harry said, almost like he was talking to a little kid. Zayn didn't mind. He liked the attention, even if he was embarrassed that he had to break his arm to get it. "Let's get you all settled."

"You don't have to- I mean, I can manage by myself, Harry," Zayn said. Harry just shushed him and started pulling out his notebooks and pencils. A soft smile toyed at Zayn's face. "Thanks," he said quietly, feeling grateful. Sometimes he forgot that –while no one loved him at home- he had some pretty great friends.

"No problem," Harry replied, standing up straight and admiring his handiwork. He sat Zayn down and pulled out a sharpie from his own backpack. "Can I be the first to sign your cast?"

"Sure."

Harry wrote his name in skinny, loopy letters. Zayn had picked an orange cast because he thought it looked sunny, but a lot of the color was covered as Harry started drawing pictures. Zayn watched as his arm was obscured with dinosaurs, and fish, and cars, and pirates, and whatever else Harry thought up. He laughed as Harry drew a doodle of a shark eating birthday cake, and he was still snorting when the bell rang, signaling Harry only had one minute to get to class.

"All right, that's my cue," Harry said, capping his marker and standing up. Zayn must have frowned because Harry cooed at him again. "Hey, don't worry. Someone will be here to pick you up before you have to leave for your next class," he promised, and Zayn cheered up a bit. "See you later, Zayn."

"Bye, Harry."

When homeroom ended, Zayn saw Louis's smiling face waiting for him outside the door. Maybe he had a broken arm, and maybe his dad gave it to him, but he had the best friends in the world.

* * *

They may be in high school now, but things hadn't really changed.

Despite being in numerous art classes and clubs since elementary school, Niall still had absolutely no talent for anything regarding the subject. Everything Niall tried to make was a failure. There wasn't one medium he was skilled with: not paint, not charcoal, not pastels, not markers… Niall couldn't even hold a  _pencil_  correctly, a fact that their teachers had frequently pointed out.

However, that being said, unless Niall was so sick that he was vomiting through his eyeballs, he still showed up at art club with a smile on his face. They were in ninth grade, but the younger boy still liked hanging out with Zayn, even if they were doing something he was terrible at.

"I can't believe you let Harry draw all over your cast first. He sucks at drawing," Niall complained. It had been a week or two since, and Niall was still griping about it. Zayn watched as the blond managed to find a corner of empty space. He snorted when he realized Niall was drawing an ice cream cone.

"You suck at drawing, too. What's that supposed to be, a trumpet?" he teased, knowing full well what it was. Niall loved ice cream. They had a new tradition where they would go out and share a banana split after every art club let out.

Niall smacked his shoulder playfully. Zayn winced. "No, you know full well that's an ice cream cone. Don't give me any of that crap. You've seen enough of my drawings to know what I'm going for," he countered. Zayn didn't say anything, just ducked his head and let Niall do whatever he wanted to his arm as he worked on his newest painting.

This one was abstract: two swirls spiraling into one big sphere in the middle of the page. It represented two people coming together to make a whole. One side was a sunny, cheerful yellow, and the other side was a muted, bleeding purple. Zayn liked pretending he chose the colors just because they were complimentary, but he knew it had more to do with his feelings for a certain blonde.

Niall eventually stopped doodling on paper and instead doodled on some primed masonite board like he was supposed to. Just in time, too, because their teacher came over almost immediately after.

She hummed at Zayn's work. "What are you planning to do for the background of this?" Mrs. McVey asked, noting how unfinished the project currently looked.

Zayn shrunk a little, not sure if she was angry with him or not. Zayn didn't do well with angry adults. He got stressed far too easily. "Um… Like… a galaxy sort of scene. Or just, like… space, you know? I thought that all… all this-" He gestured to the spirals he'd painted, "-looks kind of cosmic? So… Well, I dunno. If that's stupid, I won't do it," he promised, feeling uncomfortable. He had trouble forming sentences when adults were around.

Mrs. McVey only smiled. "No, no! That sounds great!" she replied. She seemed genuine, but it was hard for Zayn to believe an adult was complementing him.

He looked down at his feet, wringing his hands a bit. "I dunno…"

Mrs. McVey tutted a bit. "Don't doubt yourself, Zayn. You're a great artist. In fact, one of the reasons I came over here was to ask you if you wouldn't mind me stealing one of your pieces of art," she explained.

Niall perked up at that. " _Stealing_ one?" he questioned, looking half excited and half murderous. Apparently, if Mrs. McVey wanted to take anything from Zayn, she would have to go through Niall first. Just like always, it was Niall to the rescue.

Mrs. McVey held her hands up with a wince. "Well… sort of. Every year, the school likes to hang up one or two paintings done by our most talented students. They keep them for permanent display. If Zayn would let me, I would like to hang his last piece up in the office, so all the parents and students who walk through can see it," she said.

Zayn had to hold back a smile. Hell, he had to hold back shrieks of excitement; this was such good news. He felt so honored and special.  _Finally_ , an adult was seeing the good in him. It was amazing, and Zayn had to fight himself not to reach out and hold Niall's hand to celebrate. (His dad had made it very clear that he wasn't allowed to do that anymore.) "I would love that," he said honestly as Niall teasingly bowed at him over and over like he was an artist to be worshipped.

"Okay, great! I'll pull you aside later to look at some framing options," Mrs. McVey said before she left.

Niall was the first to speak afterwards. "Dude, that's awesome! I'm so proud of you, that's so cool!" he exclaimed, seemingly unconcerned that Mrs. McVey hadn't said anything about his own artwork. Zayn let himself smile, flashing Niall all 32 teeth. He soon after ducked his head and scratched sheepishly at the back of his neck.

"It's… It's all right," he replied. He didn't want to make too big of a deal out of it. It would be embarrassing to act like he'd achieved something so big and so great, when Zayn knew that he wasn't special. He was certain that most of his classmates knew it too, if they bothered to notice his existence.

"It's more than all right, Zayn!" Niall cheered. "You did so good! Didn't you hear her? She said  _most talented students._ That means  _you're_ one of the most talented!"

"I guess…"

"What to do you  _mean_ , 'you guess'? That's what she  _said._ Plus, they're gonna keep it hanging up permanently! And it's gonna be in the office, so everyone is gonna see it at some point, and they're gonna know you did it, and it's gonna be framed however you want, and like…  _Geez_ , Zayn, that's awesome!"

Zayn flushed bright pink. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, but he didn't want Niall to stop. Every kind word he said managed to cheer Zayn up a little bit, and he certainly was in need of some happiness coming his way. He still had a broken arm from his dad beating him up, after all; not a lot was going well for him right now. "Thanks, Niall," he said softly, beyond flattered. Niall –for his part- just smiled back at him.

"No problem!"

* * *

"You  _disgusting fuck_! You can't do  _anything_  right! I don't know why I even let you live in my house! Why I let you  _live_ at all!"

Zayn closed his eyes as tight as possible as his dad continually pelted him with verbal abuse. His father wasn't even  _looking_ at him; Zayn was apparently too hideous for that. Instead, his dad's eyes were glued to the TV screen as he guzzled down the six-pack Zayn had brought in for him. He hadn't been to work yet today, and Zayn wondered if he had a day off or if he had been fired from yet another job. Either way, they didn't have the money for his dad not to be working.

He had zoned out a little when his eyes were closed, but when he opened them again, his dad was still screaming. "…You're a filthy piece of  _shit_. I can't even stand to look at you; you got your features from that hideous slut you call your mother."

Zayn sighed. Today was going to be a long day. His dad had a party last night with his friends from the bar and now, Zayn was responsible for cleaning up. The house was disgusting. He was currently cleaning urine off the wall from when a few of his father's friends decided to use the corner of the family room as a urinal, instead of just going to the bathroom.

Unfortunately, his dad was also in the family room, and until Zayn was able to get out of his presence, the verbal abuse would continue. He hated how just  _seeing_ him made his dad mad. Zayn didn't know how to change to make his father like him.

"And not only are you ugly, but you're gay. Who the fuck do you think is going to want to date you? You're a fat, disgusting faggot. The only thing you know how to do is sponge piss from the walls."

Zayn turned red. It wasn't his choice to be cleaning this up. He had a broken arm and a bruised body, he would rather be lying in bed or staying over with one of his friends. But instead, his dad had ordered him to clean and had threatened to hurt him if he didn't. He  _had_  to mop up this mess. He didn't  _want to_ ; he  _had to._

"Why do you even think you have a  _chance_ with men? You think they'll be attracted to your giant nose or your yellow skin?" he questioned, getting drunker and drunker. Beer dribbled from the corners of his mouth as he drank too fast, and it dripped all over the white tank he was wearing. Meanwhile, Zayn held a hand over his nose, embarrassed. "I mean, you don't have a chance with girls, either, but at least they're guaranteed to be attracted to boys. You're some gay, disgusting freak."

Zayn scrubbed at the walls a bit harder, tears flowing down his cheeks without his permission. All of a sudden, he couldn't keep it together. He hated his dad, and he hated his  _life_. Sometimes Zayn felt like it would be better if he was just dead.

"I swear to God, I hope you kill yourself so I don't have to deal with your stupid shit anymore," his dad said. He crinkled his now empty beer can in his hand and tossed it in Zayn's direction without looking. It hit him smack in the eye, the pull-tab breaking skin. The beer on the can made the cut sting.

Again, Zayn sighed. As much as he hated being screamed at and insulted, he preferred it over physical injuries. At least he could hide the effects of what his dad pointed out when they had one-sided conversations like these. But this cut on his cheek… That would be something Zayn would have to explain, and he was running out of excuses.

* * *

It was Friday night, and that meant Zayn wouldn't have to sleep at home tonight.

With the first year of high school altering his and his friends' schedules so much, there wasn't a lot of time during the week to hang out all together anymore. So on Fridays, Zayn, Liam, Louis, Harry, and Niall all got together to sleepover, and then spend Saturday together.

It worked very well for Zayn, considering he hated spending time in his own house. It was good to hang out in a more relaxed environment. However, it was also intimidating to be with all five of his friends at once. Every time Zayn moved funny or had an injury, they guys had a million questions each. They all wanted to know what happened and all the details. Unfortunately, Zayn was usually lying so he didn't have anything to tell them. Today was no different.

"Aw, Zayn, what happened to your cheek?" Louis asked as he let him into his house, reaching out to touch the cut. Zayn frowned and batted him away.

"Nothing, nothing," he promised, holding his hands up innocently. "It's just a little scrape."

Now it was Louis's turn to frown. "I dunno, man that looks kind of deep… And also kind of gross."

Zayn rolled his eyes. Considering what could have happened to Zayn yesterday, this was nothing. Zayn didn't feel hurt at all. There was nothing to worry about. "You're all worked up over nothing," Zayn promised, reaching out to shove Louis's shoulder playfully. He was getting better at being casual while he was lying, and Zayn didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

"All right, fine, whatever," Louis said, kicking Zayn's shoe. "Take those off. All the guys are in the basement, I'm gonna order some Chinese food."

Zayn complied easily enough (he was good at following orders). When he got to the basement, all the boys made a sympathetic noise upon seeing him.

"Oh no, what happened Zayn?"

"Are you okay, Zayn?"

"Does it hurt?"

"It's fine, it's fine," Zayn promised. Niall, Harry, and Liam looked up at him with sad eyes.

"But what  _happened?"_ Liam questioned. Zayn felt like swearing. Why did everyone have to keep asking him that? It was just a little scrape; it didn't hurt too badly. He had bled a little when he got it, but it had scabbed over nicely. All things considered, Zayn was happy it had been an empty beer can instead of a full one.

He floundered for an answer to Liam's question. "Um… Same as usual. I tripped over the recliner and hit my face on the corner of the coffee table," he replied. Zayn used that excuse near constantly. That and falling off his bike, tripping down the stairs, and hitting the edge of the doorframe were his go-to answers.

The boys were quiet for a moment before Harry spoke up. "You should really move that recliner, Zayn," he said, innocent and confused. Zayn scratched his arm and looked down at the floor. He was so ashamed. He hated lying to his friends, but he didn't know how to get around it.

"Let's change the subject," Niall said graciously. Zayn let out a breath of air he didn't realize he had been holding. Meanwhile, Niall patted the empty seat next to him on the couch so Zayn would join him.

Harry seemed to be on the same page as Niall and quickly started telling one of his long-winded, over-detailed, confusing stories. Zayn wasn't sure what it was about. His attention was taken up by the way Liam was staring at him and the little circles Niall was rubbing on his knee.

"Harry, you do talk some shit, don't you?" Louis said as he came down the stairs, arms loaded up with movies. Harry laughed and threw a pillow at him. Louis dodged his attack and dumped all the DVDs in the younger boy's lap. "Why don't you occupy yourself by picking a movie you want to watch."

Harry crinkled his nose as he looked through all the films Louis had give him. "I think Zayn should pick," Harry said, passing the DVDs to Zayn. Zayn flushed and curled his arms around them, looking down with uncertainty. He had already screwed up too many times tonight. He didn't want to make it worse by picking a movie no one liked.

"Maybe someone else should do this," he said. "I'm so stupid, I bet I couldn't even read the titles of these things, let alone pick a good one. One of you guys should choose it."

Liam arched an eyebrow. He was acting so calculated and analytical; it was unnerving. "Zayn, why would you say that?" he asked. He looked like he was two seconds from shining a flashlight into Zayn's eyes and interrogating him.

"Relax, Liam, he was joking," Louis said with an eye roll. Zayn stayed quiet. Louis looked at him after he realized that Zayn wasn't agreeing with him and stared at him the same way that Liam was. "You were joking, weren't you, Zayn?" Louis asked, all of a sudden sounding nervous.

Zayn's tongue poked out to wet his lower lip. "Um… Well, I dunno. I mean… I always make the wrong decision, but you guys know that," he replied.

Everyone was quiet for a moment: Harry and Niall out of confusion and Louis and Liam out of… Well, Zayn wasn't sure why they were being quiet. It felt like they knew more than Zayn wanted them to.

The silence was suffocating, but Zayn didn't know how to break it. Fortunately, Liam did it for him.

"Zayn… You're not stupid."

Liam's voice was soft and kind, but it didn't match the expression in his eyes. Zayn's heartbeat picked up a little bit. This was too much, this was too much; he didn't know what was going  _on._

"Okay," he answered, not sure what else he was supposed to say to something like that. Zayn  _knew_  he was stupid. He had been told over and over. Liam couldn't just say the opposite and expect Zayn to believe it; it wasn't  _true._

"Zayn, you're  _not_  stupid _,"_ Niall repeated because he knew Zayn best and he knew when Zayn was just agreeing for the sake of agreeing.

" _Okay,_ " Zayn replied, just wanting the conversation to be done already. Niall switched from tracing circles onto Zayn's knee to gripping onto it firmly. His thumb rubbed comfortingly on whatever patch of skin it could reach.

Niall leaned into his side. "You're so smart," he said so no one else could hear.

Zayn looked down at the movie choices in his hands for a moment, fumbling through them. "I think… I think I want to watch  _17 Again_ ," he mumbled. Harry cheered, bringing positivity back to the room.

"Great, I love that movie!" Harry replied, grabbing the DVD and forcing it into the player. Louis was the first out of the five of them to have a Blu-ray player, which was why they were all gathered at his house tonight. Louis grabbed the remote to get to the disc menu. The movie was playing in a heartbeat, and Zayn was thankful. At least now everyone would stop asking him questions.

"You'd… you'd tell me if something was wrong, right?" Niall asked halfway through the movie, still quiet so their conversation was private. Zayn looked at him and swallowed harshly.

"Of course I would."

* * *

Zayn tore off a piece of cardboard from one of the boxes in the attic and brought it to his room. He got out his paints.

Zayn didn't have any money for art supplies, really. Usually his dad's meager paycheck first went to alcohol, then went to the monthly bills, and then went to food. There wasn't much left after all those expenses were paid. However, the boys always got him whatever art supplies he wanted for his birthday and Christmas, so the only thing he really ran low on was surfaces to paint on. Half of the art hung up in Zayn's bedroom was made on cardboard.

His walls were literally layered with his work. Zayn never took anything down, just hung more stuff on top with a thumbtack or two. All his work from elementary school probably had little pin-sized holes in it; meanwhile, his more recent stuff was on top and looked absolutely perfect.

It was kind of cool that Zayn still had all of his art. Sometimes he flipped through the pages overlapping on the wall and watched as his art went from crayon, to colored pencil, to oil paints. Soon he'd get to move onto watercolors, which was exciting. Zayn already had some plans for pieces he wanted to do.

The art he had at home was similar to what he had at school; the only difference was his muse. At school, Zayn kept all his pieces that were fit for other people to see. At home…

His walls were covered in Niall.

Niall from the side, Niall from the front, Niall from the top, Niall from the bottom, Niall from the back. Niall sleeping, Niall running, Niall drawing, Niall working, Niall studying, Niall eating, Niall walking, Niall holding his hand…

It was all from memory, and maybe a little stalker-ish, but Zayn didn't really care. He'd painted everything else in his house, practically, and the projects he worked on at school were challenging so he wanted to draw something easy at home. And Niall was so interesting. The curves of his face were unique to him and him alone, and it was almost impossible for Zayn to get his paint the same color as his skin… his eyes… The way clothes hung on Niall was special and hard to replicate, but Zayn had done it all before, so he didn't have trouble doing it again and again and again.

One day –when he finally made the perfect portrait- Zayn would stop. But for now, he would keep on painting.

* * *

"Would you just- No. No, no, no,  _no!_ " Niall groaned as Toad fell off the Rainbow Road for the eighth time that race alone. Meanwhile, Zayn drove Koopa Troopa across the finish line.

It was Wednesday night, and Zayn was spending it in the best way he knew how: with Niall. The two had just eaten dinner. Mrs. Horan had outdone herself by making the best linguini and clam sauce Zayn had ever had. Meanwhile, a blanket of snow had covered the ground while they ate.

Mr. Horan hadn't thought it would be safe to drive out in the terrible weather, so instead of taking Zayn home, they gave him a spot on the couch, a tray full of cookies, and told him to stay the night.

For the first time in awhile –probably since the last time he had spent the day at the Horans'- Zayn felt full. The most regrettable thing about his mom leaving was how hungry Zayn went all the time. The abuse was one thing, but Zayn was tired of eating school lunches and then wondering if he would get anything else to eat that day. He was so thankful for the Horan's hospitality, it hurt his chest.

He didn't say anything about it, though. Instead, he lay sprawled out on the sofa with Niall, playing Mario Kart and laughing as the blonde failed to keep his car straight.

Niall let out an exasperated huff. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to go easy on me."

Zayn smiled. "Oh, come on, you wouldn't want that. What's the point of winning if you have to have people help you cheat?" he asked, making Niall laugh. They were both a little sleepy and a little giggly. Zayn was so in love with Niall, it was making him weak, and he melted a little further into the couch cushions. He stuck his feet up in Niall's lap, comfortable enough with the blonde to do so, and grinned as Niall rubbed his ankles.

"You know what I want? I want to stop letting you pick all the levels we play. You choose all the hard ones, I need an easy one," he replied. Zayn hummed, but didn't argue. If Niall wanted to choose, then he was certainly allowed to. Zayn didn't have any intentions of telling him otherwise.

Niall flipped through the track options and eventually settled on the mall one, whatever it was called. He managed to go on every down escalator when he needed to go up, and he got stuck behind every car in the parking lot, though. Zayn laughed.

"How is it that you own this game and get to play it more than me, but I'm still better than you?" he questioned. Niall threw Zayn's feet out of his lap.

"You're a nuisance," he complained good-naturedly. He put his controller down on the counter. "I'm gonna go crazy if we keep playing this, though. Wanna break out Halo 3?"

"Whatever you want," Zayn replied, sitting up as Niall got up to get the game ready.

They play for a while until Niall starts to get  _really_ sleepy. Zayn is tired, too, but Niall seems more so as he slumps on the couch and leans on Zayn's shoulder. His cheek is smushed into Zayn's sweatshirt, and his hair tickles Zayn's neck whenever he breathes. Zayn discretely smells his hair. He couldn't remember when Niall went from smelling like Johnson and Johnson to whatever spicy scent he had on, but Zayn liked it.

He lets Niall shoot him, too in awe of the blond to try to combat him.

Sometimes it could be hard: being so close to someone he couldn't have. After all, he spent nearly every day with Niall. And Niall was always looking after him, always paying when Zayn couldn't, always offering to change the subject when Zayn was overwhelmed… And on top of how good Niall was to him, he was also just  _so cute._

"Zayn."

"Hm? What?"

"I just killed you three times in a row, and you haven't even moved," Niall complained. Zayn looked up at the screen, and made a grumbling noise.

"I think I'm just sleepy," he said, hoping Niall wouldn't take that as a reason to move away. He was so warm against Zayn's side; he didn't want him going anywhere.

"Do you wanna go to bed? I'll loan you some pajamas."

Zayn shook his head. "Nah, I don't really feel like sleeping."  _I just want to cuddle you; I just want to hold you._

"You just said you were tired."

Zayn smiled and nudged Niall with his elbow. "Don't worry about it," he replied. "Maybe, just… Well, like, would you mind maybe if we watched a movie? One we've seen before so I don't really have to pay attention," he asked, uncertain. Usually, he let Niall make all the decisions about what they did, but the younger boy made him feel so secure and comfortable. He felt like he could speak his mind from time to time.

Niall didn't answer, just got up to put a movie in. Zayn sighed as he moved away, but cheered up when Niall came to sit down right back where he had been before, snuggled into Zayn's side and everything.

"What movie are we watching?"

"Sherlock Holmes. You like that one, right?"

"Yeah," Zayn replied quietly. For some reason the moment felt intimate, what with how tired Zayn was and how cute Niall looked with his hair messed up. He was out of his school clothes and into softer things, sweatpants and a t-shirt. They were both cuddled under the same blanket as snow tapped softly at the window like a James Joyce story.

Zayn didn't remember falling asleep as the movie played on. All he knew was that the next morning he woke up to a snow day and Niall still huddled by his side, drooling on his shoulder. Zayn sighed contentedly. He was fourteen, and it was too early to be thinking about the future, but he would be happy if he got to wake up to this for the rest of his life.

* * *

The toe of his father's boot slammed repeatedly into Zayn's side. He was struggling not to cry. His rib cage hadn't even healed since the last time his dad did this to him.

One particularly hard blow left Zayn coughing and sputtering. His dad seemed to sober up a little –watching his victim wheezing like he couldn't breathe- and backed off. His eyes hardened after a second, though. "Get the fuck out of my sight," he demanded.

Zayn was happy to do just that. It took a second for his arms and legs to stop shaking like jelly, but eventually he was able to crawl up the stairs and away from his dad. It was embarrassing. He felt so weak, unable to stand on his own two feet.

Zayn collapsed at the top of the stairs. He was tired and aching. The only reason his dad had stopped hurting him was because he thought he'd have to take Zayn to the hospital again. He was sure his father didn't want to do that, what with the questions the nurses asked last time. Zayn had an abnormal about of bruises all over his body. It raised suspicion.

Plus, he had just gotten his cast off. Now would be the worst time possible for Zayn to be brutally injured again.

After catching his breath at the top of the stairs, Zayn felt the beginnings of a panic attack coming on. Fuck, he was so  _sick_ of this. Every time this happened, Zayn was stuck struggling to breathe until he fell asleep. The only time he'd been able to calm down after an anxiety attack had started was with Niall.

Zayn looked towards his father's bedroom. He was pretty sure he wasn't allowed in there; Zayn hadn't stepped foot in the master bedroom since his mother had abandoned him and his dad. But that was where the upstairs landline was, and Zayn desperately needed to make a phone call.

He stood up on shaky legs, listening to make sure his dad was still downstairs. He heard the TV blaring through the house, and Zayn figured it was safe. He stumbled into his dad's room, grabbed the phone, and all but raced to his bedroom. He locked the door.

Zayn held his breath as he dialed Niall's number. He hoped he picked up.  _Please pick up, please, please, please, pick up_.

"Hello?"

" _Niall_ ," Zayn wheezed, rubbing his chest. It was starting to ache as he hyperventilated.

"Zayn? Zayn, what's wrong?" Niall sounded stressed. Zayn squeezed his eyes closed as tight as possible, trying to block it all out.  _I didn't mean to make you worry. Please don't worry. Please, please, please don't worry._

"I'm… I'm…"

"Fuck, Zayn, is that thing happening? That thing that happens sometimes?"

Zayn nodded, even though Niall couldn't see him. He couldn't talk right now; he was so worked up.  _Yes, yes… yes. Please help me._ Niall made a cooing noise as Zayn breathed heavily over the line.

"Okay… Okay, well hold on." Niall was quiet for a while. Zayn listened, hearing the tapping of computer keys. He wished he could ask what Niall was doing, but he was crying too much. "Okay, the internet says to maybe go get a blanket, yeah? Put it around your shoulders; it's supposed to be comforting to be all wrapped up."

"'Kay," he agreed, managing to do as Niall instructed. He curled up on his bed afterwards, the phone pressed between his ear and the pillow. He tried to speak. "S-sorry. I… I didn't… kno-ow wh-who to call," he stammered.

"Don't be sorry, Zayn. Don't be sorry at all, I'm glad you called. I'm  _so_  glad you called," Niall promised. "I just feel bad that you're feeling crappy." Zayn didn't reply, just took Niall for his word. Talking took too much effort at the moment. Niall seemed to sense this and took over the conversation. "You're okay, Zayn. You're okay. You're resting in your house all wrapped up. That's good," he promised.

There was a pause as Zayn tried to take in actually deep breathes.

"Zayn, why don't you count in for two and out for two while you're breathing," Niall suggests. "And then you're supposed to try counting for four and then six when you can." It sounded like Niall was reading. Zayn couldn't help but feel flattered, despite all of his anxiety. Niall was really, genuinely doing his best for Zayn.

Like always.

He always treated him like this.

Zayn was always safe when Niall was there to take care of him. Just thinking about it helped Zayn to calm down a little. He found himself taking breaths in for two and then for four. Six was harder, but he eventually got there. Zayn's cheeks were itchy from tears and he rubbed his face off with the back of his hand. Meanwhile, Niall talked him through, never letting Zayn feel alone for a second.

"Are you feeling okay? How are you?" Niall asked when Zayn was nearly calm again. Zayn held his ribs. They were aching from all the trauma –both from his dad's boot and his labored breathing- but otherwise he was okay.

"I'm… I'm all right," he replied, sniffling the remaining tears away. "Thank you, Niall."

"No problem… Actually, I'm glad that you called. I was texting Harry earlier, and you wouldn't  _believe_ the absolute  _crap joke_  he told me. I wanted to tell it to you," Niall said with a small laugh. Just like that, they were back to normal.

"What was it?" Zayn asked, easily letting Niall change the subject. Harry's jokes were much easier to talk about than what had just happened, after all.

"Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"Lil old lady."

"Lil old lady who?"

"I didn't know you could yodel." Niall delivered the punch line dryly. A huge smile broke across Zayn's tearstained cheeks. He laughed weakly.

"Well, it's better than his giraffe one."

Niall groaned. "Well,  _anything_ is better than his giraffe one."

* * *

A week after the 'panic attack over the phone' incident, the boys have their usual Friday night sleepover. Zayn finds himself plastered between Louis and Harry on the couch, which means that he's in the crossfire during whatever goofy spat they've gotten into now. Harry laughs as Louis throws cheese curls into his hair. Meanwhile, Zayn isn't as amused. Every now and then, one would smack his cheek, leaving cheese dust behind.

"Hey, where have Liam and Niall gone?" he asks, interrupting their hijinks. (Louis  _hates it_  when Zayn calls whatever he's doing a 'hijink.')

"Dunno," Louis says, looking more confused than the situation called for. It was like he thought they phased out into thin air, rather than just getting up and leaving.

"Maybe one of us should go find them," Harry replied.

Both Zayn and Louis groaned at that. Neither of them wanted to get up. The couch was one of those ones you could sink into, and all three boys had already been sucked in.

Harry flipped himself around and laid his head in Zayn's lap. He batted his eyes up at Zayn. Zayn sighed. "I take it you want me to be the one who gets up and goes?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. Harry just batted his eyelashes at him again.

"Harry, quit that, you look like an idiot," Louis snorted. Harry tried to look offended, but he had always been a bad actor.

"No,  _you're_  an idiot," he complained, throwing one of the couch cushions at Louis's face. Zayn managed to drop down  _just_  in time to avoid it.

"God, okay, I'll go, but only because you two are obnoxious," he complained with a teasing smile. This time Harry threw a pillow at him instead. Zayn sputtered and threw it right back, standing up to go search for his other two friends.

They weren't in the kitchen, but the downstairs bathroom light was on and the door was closed. Weird. Zayn was about to knock and find out what was going on, when he heard Liam say his name on the other side of the wall. Instead of knocking, Zayn leaned his head close to the door and listen in.

"Wait, so start from the top," Liam said. "He called you from his house?"

"Yeah, and he was having a panic attack. Or like… whatever he gets, I don't know," Niall replied.

"Okay… Well… Well, was his dad home?"

"I dunno, I didn't ask. I don't… I don't think he has a good relationship with his dad or anything." Niall sounded nervous. Zayn  _hated_ when Niall sounded nervous.

"Why do you say that?"

Zayn heard Niall let out a huff of air. "Okay… Well, he never comes to anything. And he never picks Zayn up from school. And, like, this one time we walked home together, and his dad, like… came out and started screaming at me. And he pulled Zayn into the house, and he sounded so mad, and… Well, I dunno. Have you ever noticed that we never go over there? Zayn hasn't invited us over once."

"You're so right." Liam sounded concerned. "And he's always the last to leave one of our houses, and he always tries to get us to stay out later…"

Niall made a keening noise. "Liam… Liam, with all his bruises… Do you think-"

Zayn knew what Niall was going to say next, and he couldn't let the words fall out of his mouth. His heart was racing about one thousand beats per minute and he frantically knocked on the door to the bathroom. He fought to steady his voice. "Hey guys… You in there? Harry, Louis and I have been waiting for you," he interrupted.

He felt so embarrassed. He thought he had been doing such a good job keeping his secret, but in reality, he couldn't have  _been_ more obvious. Soon, everyone would know that Zayn's dad hated him. It would be humiliating.

Liam was the first to come out of the bathroom. He offered Zayn a smile and ruffled his hair. Niall came out second, tear tracks running down his cheeks. His eyes were red and puffy. Zayn sucked in a breath of air.

"Niall…"

"Yeah?" Niall asked, smiling at him as if everything was fine.

Zayn ran a hand through his hair, not sure what to say. He didn't want to admit to spying… He couldn't console Niall about anything he had brought up with Liam anyway; not without giving up some secrets. "You'd… You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?" Zayn asked, just like Niall had however long ago. Niall smiled weakly at him.

"Of course I would."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a little short. This one was kind of a filler chapter? Next chapter there will be drama, though. Moms walking in on stuff, some Lilo, Liam crying, and this big confrontation... It's gonna get so real, be ready.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took forever, but it is also really long, so take from that what you will.

Zayn was fifteen when his friends realized he was lying.

They were all hanging out at Louis’s house. Louis and Liam were playing a very tense, silent game of Halo, and Niall and Harry had their eyes glued on the screen: anything to avoid looking at Zayn.

Because Zayn had a black eye.

But, apparently, no one wanted to talk about it, and it was driving him crazy. Why was it that sometimes his friends wouldn’t _stop_ asking questions about every little scrape and every little bruise, but other times they just stared at him like they were deer and he was a set of head lights?

Usually Louis’s basement felt like a safe happy place to Zayn, but today it felt suffocating. Even Niall’s presence was uncomfortable for him. The blond was pressed up against his side on the couch, touching him from head to toe. While that would normally be nice, there was too much nervous energy rolling off of Niall for Zayn to feel comforted.

He was about to break the silence –suggest they play a card game or go outside and shoot some hoops- but Harry does it for him.

“Zayn, I’m very worried about you,” Harry piped up from the floor. He was sitting underneath Zayn, looking up at him with big, nervous eyes. Zayn hadn’t noticed he had been staring. Harry reached out to let his finger tips graze over Zayn’s swollen, purple cheek. “How did this happen?”

Zayn floundered a little. He knew the second his dad gave him this shiner that his friends were going to ask about it; he knew _every_ time he got an injury that his friends would eventually ask about it. However, it still seemed to catch him off guard. Zayn never had the right lie prepared; he was always fumbling for an excuse.

“God, Harry, haven’t you learned by now? There’s no point in asking. He’s just going to lie about it,” Louis said. Zayn’s heart dropped. He sat up straight on the couch, his whole body tense, while Louis lay on the floor, absentmindedly playing video games. It was such a casual position for someone who was ripping Zayn’s heart out.

“I don’t… I’m not going to lie about it,” he lied. It was frustrating that he has to lie about lying. Zayn wanted to be trustworthy. He wanted to be a good friend. In fact, he thought he was those things –after all, there has to be _something_ he’s good at- but his home situation is… tricky. The things his father did to him didn’t make honesty easy, and while he couldn’t expect his friends to understand, he wished they would.

“Really? Like you didn’t lie about falling off your bicycle and breaking your arm?” Louis scoffed. He sat up on one elbow, glaring at Zayn. “Like, honestly, Zayn. Who falls off a bike like that, but doesn’t get a single scrape on them _anywhere_? If you’re going to bullshit all the time, at least make it make sense.”

Harry frowned. “But that’s not fair, Zayn isn’t a good bike rider. Everyone knows that.”

“Harry, I love you, but you’re one of the stupidest people I’ve ever met.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Liam interrupted, always the first to break up any potential fights. All eyes fell on him, but the only person Liam was looking at was Zayn. “I think what Louis is trying to say is that we know that you’ve been making a lot of excuses lately.”

“But that’s not true, I’m not lying,” Zayn said. His throat was dry. Suddenly, a cold burst of air fell over him, and Zayn realized that Niall has moved, taking his warmth with him. The younger boy was now seated on the couch sideways, leaning up against the arm and looking at him with wide, confused eyes. Zayn looked at him desperately. “Come on, Niall. Tell them they’re being crazy. Tell them I’m not lying.”

“But Zayn… Zayn, I think you _are_ lying.” Zayn must have looked absolutely crestfallen because Niall promptly burst into tears. “Oh, please don’t be mad at me, Zayn. Please don’t be mad. It’s just… It’s just really scary seeing you so hurt all the time and not knowing why. I’m so, so, so scared for you. I’m so scared.”

Niall’s crying only served to make Zayn that much more uncomfortable and panicked. Tears brewed in his eyes. It was unnerving to see the boy he loved so much so distraught over something he had done. The guilt was crippling, and the way the other boys were staring at him didn’t help matters.

“I’m not lying,” he said quietly. He was scared to say it much louder, worried the tone of his voice would give away how untruthful he was.

Louis glared at him. “That’s such a pile of shi-“

“It’s just that what if you _are_ lying, Zayn,” Liam interrupted, not letting Louis finish his sentence. Louis got angry when he was upset, and the boys had long since learned not to get their feelings hurt when he was mad like this. However, Liam tended to cut him off anyways, knowing how awful it could be to get yelled at when you were already near tears. “Because you do know what this looks like, don’t you? It looks like you’re being-“

“Liam, stop!” Zayn yelped, his voice coming out a bit shriller than he had wanted it to. He sounded flustered. He needed to sound calm and relaxed if the boys were going to believe him, but he sounded insane. It was just…

Liam couldn’t say it out loud.

If he said it out loud then it would be real. And if he said it out loud, then Zayn wouldn’t know what to say; he wouldn’t be able to deny it. And all his friends would know how fucked up he was, and how awful he was, and how… how inhuman he was. Zayn didn’t even feel _human_ when he thought of what his father did to him.

“Zayn, we just want to help you,” Niall said softly, reaching out to put a loving hand on Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn just batted him away. He was hurt by the way Niall had separated from his side when Louis and Liam had started attacking him, when Zayn had _needed_ him. And the fact that Niall didn’t believe him… that Niall didn’t trust him… It was unbearable.

“I don’t _need_ your help. I’m _fine_. I’m just… clumsy.”

Louis all but exploded at that. “If you’re just _clumsy_ then why haven’t I seen you trip or bump into anything, like… ever? You don’t drop stuff, you don’t fall over things, you don’t bang your head, or hand, or leg, or arm on _anything_ -“

“Lou,” Liam said in a warning voice, but Louis wouldn’t have it.

“No, Liam, this is so fucking stupid,” he snapped. Zayn knew that he was a sophomore in high school, but it was still freaked him out whenever Louis started swearing like this. He heard the same kind of language every day from his father, but Louis… Louis was supposed to care about him. The older boy turned back to Zayn. “Also, don’t you dare give me that ‘I don’t need your help’ crap. You fucking _always_ need help, Zayn. You need our hand-me-downs, you need us to treat for you wherever we go, you need to stay at our houses all the time, you need rides every where, you need so much fucking shit from us, Zayn, it’s a joke.”

Zayn was quiet, his hands reaching up to twist in his hair as he tried to block out the words he was saying. He rocked himself back and forth for a minute, not realizing Louis was done speaking until a couple minutes had passed by. He looked up around the room, startled.

Zayn grabbed his book bag and held it to his chest. He looked around the room. “I’m… I’m going home,” he decided, too ashamed and embarrassed to be here anymore.

“Zayn…”

“Zayn, don’t be like that.”

“Zayn, come on.”

“No,” Zayn said sternly, climbing up the stairs. The second he got to the top he started running. He forced his legs to carry him as fast and as hard as they could. His backpack flapped against his bruised spine uncomfortably as he ran out of the house and down the street. There was this awful, paranoid feeling brewing in his chest that one of his friends was right about to grab his collar, no matter how fast he ran.

Zayn was a sweaty mess by the time he made it home. He flung himself into the house and locked the door. He peeked out the window for a good long while until he was absolutely sure that no one had chased after him. He had stopped running ages ago, but his heart was still pumping just as hard and his breathing hadn’t slowed down at all.

For the first time in his life, Zayn’s friends scared him, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

* * *

The phone rang a week after the argument at Louis’s, and Zayn was the one who answered it. His dad couldn’t be fucked, obviously, and Zayn had let himself become more of a pack mule than usual lately. It was hard to care about himself when he was near positive that his friends didn’t anymore. They had been all he had left, and he had ruined everything. 

“Hello?” he asked. He had a split lip that made him sound a little funny, but Zayn didn’t think to introduce himself.

“Hello, this is Zayn’s friend Louis. Is he available?” Zayn would have laughed at how unusually polite Louis was being had he not been just _so_ depressed and just _so_ surprised that Louis had called him. He scrubbed his nose off on the back of his hand and leaned back a little, checking on his dad in the family room. He seemed immersed in some football game. Zayn weighed his options and decided that it would be okay to talk on the phone for a little.

“This is Zayn,” he answered quietly, not wanting his dad to overhear and yell at him. He was trying to at least be a little self-preserving. He didn’t want to be _completely_ spineless, after all. Plus, he had been staying home from school lately, which meant that he had been more of a punching bag than usual; his body was too sore to be beaten again.

“Oh… oh, okay. Okay, hi Zayn.”

“Hi, Louis.”

They were both silent for a moment, and Zayn was almost certain that this was just the quiet before the storm. After all, he had stomped out of Louis’s house after _lying_ about _lying_. The boys never lied to each other. An issue like this had never come up before, and there was no telling how this was going to go. Zayn was half-sure that Louis was just calling to tell him he was no longer part of the group.

“You haven’t been at school,” Louis eventually replied. His voice sounded wet, like he was about to cry, and it wasn’t what Zayn expecting.

“Well… No.”

“Why?” Louis asked.

Zayn huffed out a sigh and looked down at his toes. He kicked at the ground a little, feeling awkward and uncertain. “Didn’t feel much like going,” he replied with a shrug, not that Louis could see it. He was so worn and beaten down.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No. I’m not mad.”

Louis was quiet again, and Zayn could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “Well… Well, okay, you’re not mad, but that doesn’t mean I’m not sorry,” he resolved. Zayn could tell he had thrown off whatever Louis’s little speech for this phone call was, but honestly, he couldn’t think much about that. He was too confused by what Louis was trying to tell him.

“You’re sorry?” he questioned. Louis had lost him. Zayn was the one that had messed up. Why on earth would Louis be apologizing to him?

Louis made one of his frustrated whining noises over the phone, a clear sign that he was feeling overwhelmed. “Well, I dunno,” he groaned. “I got snappy, I guess, and now it’s been like… a full week, and you haven’t come to school, and no one has seen you, and Niall said that if someone is, like, hurting you or whatever, then yelling is mean and it won’t help, and then Liam said that Niall was right and that he was feeling guilty, and I don’t _want_ Liam to feel guilty, Zayn, that’s no good, and I don’t want you to be stayin’ at home and not be coming to school. You should be coming to school; you have to come to school, I can’t-“

“Louis, I think maybe you should take a deep breath and calm down,” Zayn suggested, switching which ear he was holding the phone with. It didn’t matter how angry he was with his friends or how frustrated his friends were with him; he hated when they were upset.

“But I can’t calm down because you’re not in school, Zayn. And you’re always hurt, and everyone is mad at me. Like _everyone_ cause we were all gonna talk to you nicely about it, but I jumped in all mad, and… and… and… And I’m just really sorry, Zayn, I’m just really sorry.”

“It’s okay, Louis.”

“But it’s not okay, you’re not doing well, and you’re not in _school, Zayn._ We haven’t seen you in like a week. Who knows what bumps, or bruises, or cuts you have? You could be dying, you’re probably dying, and you’re all on your own, and it’s my fault, and I’m _so sorry, I’m so sorry_.”

Zayn groaned. “Louis, it’s okay, and I’m not dying,” he whined. Although, he reached his hand up to cover the split on his lip as he said it. He definitely wasn’t dying, but he still felt like he was lying.

For a while, there was nothing but silence on the other side of the line. For a second, Zayn thought that Louis had hung up on him, but then he heard sniffling on the other side of the line. His heart broke in two. Louis was crying.

“Aw, Louis… c’mon, everything is okay,” he promised. “Nobody’s mad at you, nobody’s getting hurt. I’m okay, and you’re okay, too. Everything is okay.” It was embarrassing how the lies had started leaving his mouth on instinct now. He didn’t even have to think about it anymore.

Louis made a strangled sound, and Zayn’s chest constricted. He was so worried. “I’m supposed to be making you feel better, and you’re the one comforting me,” Louis choked out through snot and tears. There was a loud honking noise, which Zayn thought might be Louis blowing his nose. “I really am sorry, Zayn.”

“Like I’ve said before, it’s okay. I’m… I’m sorry I haven’t been in school.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I made you feel so sad. I hope you weren’t cryin’ about it too much. Cryin’ is the worst,” Louis wept, sounding so very sad and so very small. Even if Zayn had been mad, he would have had to forgive him. It wasn’t often that Louis lost it like this. He felt like he had to take care of him. Honestly, everyone should take care of Louis, especially when he was crying and apologizing over the phone.

“Crying _is_ the worst,” he agreed. He toyed with the chord of the phone. “I’ll be in school tomorrow, okay, Louis?”

“Okay.”

“You don’t have to cry about anything, alright? We’re okay. And you can tell Niall, and Liam, and Harry that we’re okay, and that I was never mad, and that I’ll be in school tomorrow.”

“You were never mad?”

Zayn smiled weakly. “Never.”

Louis seemed to settle after that. “Okay,” he said, sounding more resigned. “I’ll see you tomorrow and everything will be better.”

They said their goodbyes and Zayn hung up the phone.  As confident as Louis seemed that things would right themselves out, he couldn’t help but feel like nothing would ever be the same. The questions wouldn’t stop until he admitted to the abuse, and that was the last thing Zayn wanted to do.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He just had to trust Louis. Everything would be better; it had to be.

* * *

“Zayn, you’re here!” Harry chirped, jumping up from the lunch table to pull him into a hug. “Liam said you were here, but I thought he was just messin’ with me!” 

Zayn struggled to take in air as Harry squeezed around his middle. It was clear the younger boy was excited to see him. Every word he said deserved it’s own exclamation point, he sounded so chipper, and his hug was suffocating. Zayn, however, was more nervous than happy. “Yeah, Haz, I’m here,” he puffed as Harry set him down.

“I missed you a lot,” Harry promised. “Come sit down. Sit down across from me. Sit down, sit down,” he said invitingly, somehow easing some of Zayn’s worry. He hadn’t been sure if the boys would invite him to sit back down at their lunch table. He was such a fuck up, he didn’t deserve to hang out with them anymore…

“Zayn,” Niall said, interrupting his self-deprecating thoughts. There was a smile in his voice, but Zayn didn’t want to look at his face to see his expression. He was too scared.

As he sat down, however, a familiar set of arms wrapped around his shoulders. A shock of blond hair tickled his neck and nose. Zayn closed his eyes for a second. “Sorry.” He didn’t know why he was apologizing.

“Don’t be a goofball, it’s good to have you back,” Niall replied easily, cutting through all of Zayn’s worries and reservations in an instant. His arms tightened around Zayn’s neck and stayed that way. He didn’t let go. Not when Louis came, not when Liam came, not when their lunch period was almost up and he still hadn’t even touched his food… Sometimes it felt like Niall knew what Zayn needed even before he did.

* * *

As Zayn looked around at all of his friends, he realized that this was the first time he had seen them outside of school in over a month. 

He just felt so separated from them. Everyone else was piled up on Harry’s living room couch, and he was alone in the armchair to the side. They keep making inside jokes he didn’t get, and they were all talking about stuff he wasn’t there for, and – _geez-_ how much could he really have missed in month?

He knew it was no one’s fault but his own that he hadn’t been around. He didn’t feel comfortable around the boys when they were right on the cusp of figuring out what was wrong with him. Zayn was used to feeling nervous around adults and strangers, not his friends. It wasn’t fair.

He wanted to blame his friends for how awkward they were making him feel, what with their curious eyes and the way they tiptoed around him, but he had been the one who had put them all in this position. _Zayn_ was the one who ruined things. He was the one who lied. He was the one who avoided their questions. He was the one who was stupid, and ugly, and awful, and fucked up enough to make their own father turn on them. It was his fault because he was the one covered in bruises; he was the one with no good explanation.

But as uncomfortable as Zayn felt, Niall still managed to put him at ease with a simple change in the conversation. “So,” the blond said, interrupting Louis and Harry as they reminisced about some party Zayn had declined his invitation to. “Zayn’s getting another piece hung up in the school next week.”

“Really?” Liam piped up. He was always the first to be proud of any of the boys. If Zayn had a nickel for every time Liam told him ‘good job!’ he’d be a millionaire. “Zayn, that makes, like, what, you’re third?”

“No, his fourth,” Harry corrected, eyes lighting up. He leaned forward towards Zayn and ruffled his hair. Whether he didn’t notice or ignored Zayn’s flinch wasn’t clear. “Our little artist has grown up,” he cooed obnoxiously. “I remember when you couldn’t even hold a crayon between your chubby little fingers.”

Zayn laughed in spite of himself and pushed Harry off. “Leave me alone, _mom_ ,” he complained.

Harry paid no mind to the mild insult and instead pestered Niall for more information about the painting the office had chosen to put up. “So I thought they only feature one painting by one student per year? How come Zayn’s gotten so many spots?” he asked.

“The _office_ only picks one, but the faculty is allowed to hang up work permanently in their classroom and everyone is obsessed with what Zayn paints. Like… he really is crazy good, guys, like crazy good,” Niall said, almost like Zayn wasn’t in the room. It made it all the more flattering. Niall didn’t just compliment him to his face, he spoke well of him when he wasn’t around, too.

“You just let them take it for free?” Louis asked Zayn incredulously. Zayn just shrugged.

“Well, like… my best work is at my house, and there’s really no more room left on my walls, you know?” Zayn shrugged. “But I’m allowed to come take it back whenever I want. Like… it’s no big deal.”

“You keep your best work at home?” Niall piped up. Fuck. Of course that was the only part of that Niall paid attention to. If there was one person who cared about and really _knew_ Zayn’s artwork, it was Niall. He’d been there during his entire development as an artist. He had seen him make the majority of his work. Of course he was interested to see more of it.

It was unbearably endearing. Horribly sweet. Annoyingly cute. Terribly wonderful. The butterflies in his stomach that Zayn usually felt when talking to Niall turned into raging hornets. “Um… yeah. You know, just like… I don’t want to do my really personal work at school where, like, teachers and strangers can see it. But that’s like… the stuff I’m passionate about? So… ah, I probably sound like such a pretentious asshole talking about this stuff, but I when I’m painting at home it’s more private so I can be more involved.”

“You don’t want strangers to see it, or you don’t want us to see it?” Harry asked, his bottom lip sticking out a little bit. Zayn floundered.

“Well, like… I guess you could see it, but… but it’s at my house, and it’s all taped on the wall, so like… I can’t bring it to you or whatever,” he tried to explain. He was telling the truth for once. Or… most of the truth, anyways. The biggest reason Zayn didn’t want to bring his work to his friends was because it was all Niall. He had maybe one group portrait of all his friends, but it was old, and he wasn’t proud of it.

There was a pause before Harry broke the still that had come over his friend group. “We could always go over to your place,” he suggested, and Zayn paled. This was the exact reason he hadn’t spent real time with his friends lately. He had been so scared the conversation would come to something about his house. This was the last thing he wanted.

“You can’t come over,” he said simply. Better to be short than to lie.

“Why not?” Harry asked. His face looked so confused and so hurt… Zayn felt like crying on the spot, but he settled on wringing his hands instead. Somehow, Harry was the one who made him feel the guiltiest for all of this. He just looked so sad. Zayn _hated_ it when Harry was sad.

“I… I don’t know. You just can’t.”

“But _why not?_ ”

“Because I said so.”

“But why would you say that? I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends, Harry, of course we’re friends, but you can’t just-“ Zayn dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. The conversation had only been going on for a minute, and he was already exhausted by it. “My dad doesn’t like it when I have company over,” he eventually said. It’s the first time he’s ever willingly brought up his dad in conversation in… well, Zayn can’t remember. He tried to not think much about his dad when he was out with friends.

Harry kept asking questions, even as his breathing picked up. “But have you ever had company over? …Well, Zayn, have you? Have you?” he interrogated, moving to sit on the floor by Zayn’s feet. Zayn could feel his t-shirt sleeve brushing against his knee and he let out a shudder of a breath.

“No.”

“Then how do you _know?_ ” Harry wondered. “Like maybe it would be good if we just came over once to, like, I dunno, maybe-“

“Harry,” Niall interrupted. “Leave him alone.”

Zayn didn’t move his hands from his eyes, but he recognized Niall’s hands as they gripped onto his shoulders. At first, he couldn’t figure out why Niall was holding onto him so tightly, but then he realized that he was shaking. Niall was just trying to help keep him still. “I’m… I’m sorry,” Zayn said, pulling his hands away. Tears immediately started pouring down his cheeks.

“It’s okay, Zayn. Let’s get you wrapped up, huh? I think you’re having a panic attack. But you’re okay… You’re okay,” Niall promised.

Zayn nodded tentatively. He was stiff as a board as Liam came over and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. The older boy pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. It was awkward but nice, given the circumstances and how terrified Zayn was. He was scared, and for no reason.

Zayn wasn’t sure how long he sat there wheezing, and choking, and crying, and shivering, but eventually his friends seem to admit defeat. They’d been rubbing his back, saying nice things to him, and trying to make him feel better for much too long without any signs of improvement. Zayn scrubbed at his nose with the blanket, not caring what he got snot on. “Normally, I just gotta go to sleep. Just let me go home so I can go to sleep.”

The boys listened, and he was vaguely aware of Liam picking him up. Honestly, he was far from coherent, and he didn’t fully understand what was happening to him. All he could think about was how terrified he was; he couldn’t think about the context of his current situation.

He ended up in a car.

Niall’s car.

Or, technically it wasn’t Niall’s car. It was the old mini-van his mom used to drive that Greg had claimed as his own, even though he was going to have to share it with Niall when he got his license.

Still, it _smelled_ like Niall. As soon as the doors to the van were closed, he was enveloped in the scent of the cologne that Niall ‘borrowed’ from Greg and the laundry detergent the whole Horan family used. There was an old, Styrofoam take out container of hot wings shoved under the passenger seat, and while Zayn should feel really grossed out, somehow that only made it smell _more_ like Niall. Apparently Niall smelled cheap cologne, cheap laundry detergent, and hot sauce.

Also apparently, that was the greatest scent in the _world_. Who would have thought?

It was enough to calm Zayn down, anyways, and he stopped panicking enough to pay attention to Niall sitting next to him in the back and Greg staring at him through the rearview mirror. “So where are we headed?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Home, please. I’m… I’m tired.” His voice was so hoarse it hurt to speak.

Greg, for his part, merely nodded in the mirror and headed towards the Malik household. He has had to take Zayn home loads of times before but never like this, never when he was crying. It was embarrassing to say the least, and Zayn couldn’t help but get more upset. He was so consumed in all of his anxiety, that he almost missed the sound of sniffles coming from the seat next to him.

“Niall?” he asked, suddenly concerned. “Niall, what’s… Are you…?”

“I’m fine, Zayn,” Niall replied sharply. Zayn jumped back, surprised, before worry swept over him. He reached out for Niall’s hand. He wanted to take care of him, no matter how panicked he was feeling. Niall always did everything he could to take care of him; it was time to return the favor.

“C’mon, that’s not true,” he said, but Niall remained silent. Zayn rubbed the back of Niall’s hand with his palm. “You said, we’d tell each other when anything was wrong, remember?”

Niall shook him off. “Yeah, well that was bogus, Zayn, and you know it.”

Zayn recoiled from Niall and stayed away this time. “What… Niall, what’s going on? Why are you crying?” he questioned as tears dripped down the blond’s cheek. For once, Zayn realized how his friends must feel when he broke down like this.

“I dunno,” Niall said, his bottom lip poking out unintentionally as he spoke. Niall’s shoulders tensed for a moment and suddenly released, as if a physical weight was rolling off his shoulders. “You’re crying, and I want to help… But you want me to take you home, and I _know_ it’s not safe there. I know it’s the reason you’re upset, why you’re nearly always upset, and you’re… you hide everything, and I wish you didn’t, and I wish things were better for you, but mostly I’m just so scared to take you to that awful house when you’re upset like this,” he explained, sounding oddly rehearsed, like he had been planning this exact speech out in his mind for the duration of the car ride so far.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Niall replied, sounding incredibly annoyed. Zayn watched with wide eyes as Niall doubled over on himself in frustration. He let out an outraged sounding groan. “I love you so much, Zayn, this is so stupid.”

“I… I love you, too,” Zayn replied, heart breaking in a million pieces. He rubbed his wet nose off on my sleeve as his throat clogged up. When he spoke, it was high-pitched and hysterical. “It’s just… this is hard for me, too, you know? This is really hard for me, too. Please don’t be too mad, I’m trying. I promise I’m trying.”

“Can’t you just sleep at our house if that’s what you wanna do?” Niall asked, paying no mind to his explanation for all the secrecy and all the lies.

“I can if you want.”

“I do want,” Niall replied firmly. There was an awkward moment where the younger boy’s fingers kept stretching out towards him and then pulling away. Zayn was about to ask him to just keep himself to his hands already, but Niall beat him to the punch by grabbing onto his hand and lacing their fingers together so they couldn’t be broken apart. “I just worry, you know? I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Zayn promised.

* * *

Zayn burrowed his head underneath his covers to avoid the evil glare his backpack was giving him. He swore, something about the placement of the zippers and Jansport logo on his book bag gave it this hideous face that made Zayn feel even guiltier when he procrastinated on his homework. 

But no matter how much Zayn’s backpack glared at him, he couldn’t find the will to do his schoolwork. He didn’t have any energy lately. It was hard enough to get up and go to school, let alone keep up with his assignments after class was over.

It was like all of the time he had this giant, heavy weight on his shoulders. Zayn was so sick of feeling tired and upset, but no matter what he did or who he was with, he couldn’t seem to shake his depression. Zayn was constantly sad, and there was nothing he could do about it outside of doing something drastic like killing himself.

He didn’t want to die, but he was certainly having trouble finding the will to live. Even going through the motions had become painful.

He used to have an escape. Zayn would find the boys –find _Niall_ \- and he would be able to take his mind off of how awful his home life was. He could stop thinking about how much he hated his father and how much he hated himself.

But the boys were closing in, and Zayn’s anxiety could never die down, could never ease off. It was eating away at him. He was so sad and so tired. There was no way out.

_There was no way out, there was no way out, there was no way out._

At least, not until he was lying in his grave.

* * *

“I swear, you need to relax,” Niall scolded. His voice said he was teasing, his eyes said he was serious, but regardless, he was right. Zayn had been tense ever since he’d arrived at the Horan’s house. 

The other boys had been holed up with them for most of the afternoon. The five had decided to spend a few hours over at Niall’s house, doing homework and crapping around on Greg’s X-Box for the better part of the evening until it was about dinnertime. Louis, Liam, and Harry had all left to eat with their families. Meanwhile, Zayn stayed behind.

It may have been a weeknight, but no one would be looking for Zayn at home.

“I’m as calm as I can be,” Zayn replied. He was telling the truth for the most part. He was doing his best to be mellow, but hanging out with his friends had been so stressful lately. There were so many ways the topic could change into something about his father or his injuries, and it always had him on the edge of his seat.

“Are you kidding? I swear, I can feel you’re heartbeat from here,” Niall replied, leaning against the opposite arm of the couch. Zayn grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his chest.

“Can not.”

“Can too. It’s going like… 240 beats per minute.”

“Yeah?” Zayn asked, tilting his head to the side. “Then prove it.”

A wide smile crept up the edges of Niall’s face. “I will,” he replied, getting on his hands and knees and crawling across the couch. He straddled Zayn’s lap and placed a hand on his chest. Meanwhile, Zayn sat still, trying not to get too excited or let his breath be taken away.

“What are you trying to do?” he asked, noticing as Niall stuck his tongue out in concentration.

“I’m trying to take your pulse. Except I don’t think I know how to… Here.” Niall shifted gears, bending over and placing his ear over Zayn’s heart. By this point, he was wrapped around him like a koala, and Zayn was lying stiff as a board on the couch. He was scared to move, thinking any shift might make Niall get off when Zayn only wanted him closer.

Niall sighed and seemed to melt on top of him. “This is too hard, I give up,” he complained, but he didn’t get up to move. Zayn thanked God over and over that Niall didn’t move.

“You’re not a quitter, you’re a fighter,” Zayn teased. Suddenly, he was in a good mood for once. Zayn didn’t know if he could remember a time where Niall had been this all over him before… Except for maybe the time when they were eight and Niall had saved him from Liam and Louis during their snowball fight, but that was a little different.

Eight-year-olds were allowed to touch like this. For fifteen-year-olds, this was… intimate. And Zayn was really happy to be a part of it. Leave it to Niall to break through the spiral of depression he felt like he’d been slipping into.

Zayn lifted a tentative arm to drape over Niall’s waist. The blond hummed happily. “You know what’s stupid?” he mumbled into Zayn’s shirt.

“What?” Zayn asked, fingers tapping against Niall’s back.

“It’s only Tuesday.”

“Yeah.”

“It feels like it could be Friday already. I’m, like... tired enough for Friday. I’m ready for it to come.”

“School sometimes feels like an eternity.”

“That’s true,” Niall replied. “Especially math class. I hate math class. Or… Well, geometry was okay cause, like, I like the shapes? But algebra is just numbers, and it’s all so stupid.”

Zayn quirked a smile, closing his eyes for a minute. “I’m not sure if math is stupid. I think you’d have to be pretty smart to figure it all out.”

“That’s also true,” Niall mused. He was quiet for a moment. “Hey! You know, speaking of numbers, I haven’t officially been counting, but I do think you’re heartbeat is slowing down. Like… I can hear it, you know? I can hear it beating happier now.”

“What’s beating happier?” asked Mrs. Horan, appearing out of nowhere. Zayn jumped a little, but Niall didn’t move from his spot sprawled out on top of him. Every self-preserving nerve in Zayn’s body told him to shove Niall off or else get beaten, but Mrs. Horan didn’t seem mad about how close they were. If anything she seemed amused.

“None of your business,” Niall replied sassily. His mother arched an eyebrow, leaning on the entryway to the family room.

“Oi. When it’s under my roof, it’s my business,” she said. Something flashed in her eye that Zayn couldn’t read, but it had Niall blushing. There was a bit of an awkward pause that Zayn didn’t know what to do with, but fortunately, Mrs. Horan fixed it by clearing her throat and changing topics. “Right. Well, I only came in to ask which type of beans you boys would prefer tonight with our tacos: black or pinto.”

Niall craned his head back to give Zayn an expectant look, and Zayn flushed. “Um… I like the little tan ones,” he said, not knowing the name. “So I guess that’s pinto?”

“You guessed right!” Mrs. Horan replied with a smile. “One can of pinto beans, coming up! You boys behave yourselves!” she said before leaving them to their own devices. Niall buried his face into the front of Zayn’s t-shirt.

“Sorry,” he apologized, and the smile returned to Zayn’s face, despite how fast his heart was racing again. It was nice to remember that not all adults were his father. Not all of the authority figures in his life planned to scream at him just because he was touching another boy. Zayn’s dad had yelled over hand holding, but Mrs. Horan hadn’t even batted an eyelash to see him lying with Niall. He’d never been so grateful for the reminder, even if it had freaked him out a bit to get caught in the act.

“Hey, don’t be a goofball,” he replied, just like Niall had the other day. The younger boy merely pushed himself flatter somehow against Zayn’s chest.

“Let’s just agree to not move until dinner, okay?” the blond asked, voice small. Zayn would have had to be either a psychopath or a sociopath to say no.

“Of course. Anything you want.” _Always_.

* * *

Lunch is definitely Zayn’s favorite period of the day. He knows that’s not exactly unusual. Pretty much everyone likes lunch. But he liked to think it was especially relaxing for him because there weren’t many moments during the day where he could turn his brain off.  In class he was expected to take notes, and at home he constantly had an ear out for what his dad was doing. 

But lunch was a break, and Zayn absolutely loved it.

“Shoot. My mom packed me apricots. Zayn, do you want them?” Liam asked, and Zayn flushed.

“Sure,” he agreed. It was pretty obvious that Liam was lying, but only because this happened every single day. Liam always seemed to have food he didn’t like or extra snacks, and he always offered them to Zayn. If he wasn’t so desperate for a real meal, he probably would have said something by now, but as it was, he’d eat just about anything any of the boys offered him.

Zayn was just biting into the orange fruit when he was made the center of attention again. “So, Zayn, how was your day?” Louis asked kindly. He’d been tiptoeing around Zayn lately.

“Um… it was okay,” he replied, struggling to talk without dribbling apricot juice down his chin.

“Aw, just okay?” Louis pouted.

“Yeah, well… I forgot some homework, I dunno. And my back hurts.”

“Do you need help with school?” Niall asked with a frown, obviously willing to help. Niall would help Zayn with just about everything. He knew that by now. “And what’s wrong with your back? Are you okay?”

Zayn doesn’t even get to answer before the other boys are pestering him with questions. “Yeah, Zayn, are you alright? Is there a bruise on your back? Because I think bruised spines can be dangerous,” Harry commented.

“You know, we could take you to the nurse!” Liam chimed in. “Do you want us to take you?”

“Or just one of us could take you! I’d totally take you,” Louis promised.

Zayn put his hands up in surrender. “Hey, you know? I actually, really, and honestly just slept weird last night, yeah? I’m okay,” he promised. He’d slept in the closet. Zayn had practically moved into his closet, if he was being honest. It felt a lot safer in there.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you in any unnecessary pain… Also, you’ve been forgetting homework a lot recently. Are you alright?” Niall asked, while all their friends looked on with worried eyes.

It seemed like everyone was on red alert, lately. Nothing Zayn said could pass by without a thousand questions, but not the probing kind, just the caring, careful kind. Zayn felt like a fragile egg and the other boys were all delicately cradling him in their hands.

He couldn’t tell if he liked it or hated it.

“I’m fine, guys. Just… I mean… I’ve been a bit stressed out. But I’m okay, I promise I’m okay,” he swore. His face heated up with a massive blush. He half loved the attention and was half terrified by it. “Can’t we just talk about something else, now? Like, I’m dying.”

Louis smiled weakly at him. “Sure, anything you want, Zayn,” he agreed. Normally, Louis was the most headstrong of the group, but he’d been all but melting for Zayn lately. Zayn could ask him to claw his own heart out with his fingernails, and there was no doubt in his mind that Louis would do it. He hid a smile behind his hand as Louis shifted gears. “So, did I ever tell you guys about the time I swallowed seven gumballs? Because let me tell you, it messed up my intestines…”

Okay, so maybe Louis was still the same, crass, annoying teenager he had always been, but at least he was using his powers for good.

* * *

“Harry, hold me, Liam’s being a big ole meanie pants,” Louis wailed before jumping on the other boy, crushing him into the carpet. Harry laughed and wrapped his arms around Louis in a giant hug.

“Hush, boo bear, I’ve got you,” Harry promised. He pet Louis’s hair and gave Liam a teasing glare. “Liam, you leave him alone. He’s doing the best he can,” he said before smacking a kiss to Louis’s cheek. Liam sat still for a minute, uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, and stood up.

“You know? Whatever,” he said angrily, storming off.

The laughter in the room suddenly stopped.

“What happened?” Louis asked, eyes wide. He looked to Harry, Niall, and Zayn, but each could only shrug back. Zayn had seen Liam grow more and more upset as the day had gone on, but he didn’t know why he had stomped out of the room like that.

They had all just been milling about like usual, this time in Liam’s living room. Harry and Louis had been singing some weird song from their choir class –one that Liam had to drop out of to get some extra help in math- when Liam had started teasing Louis about his singing voice.

He hadn’t gone on for long; Harry hadn’t given him a chance. He quickly swooped in to Louis’s defense, and Liam was quieted. But only for a moment.

For the last two hours, Liam had been pestering Louis. If it hadn’t been Liam – _Liam_ , for heaven’s sake- Zayn might have thought that he was serious, that he really did want to insult Louis and make him feel bad. Except it _was_ Liam, so Zayn had written off all his snide comments as stupid, goofy teasing.

Even Louis seemed to think that Liam was just joking. It wasn’t until Liam stormed off in a huff that Zayn realized maybe this was more than just banter between friends. Zayn scratched between bruises on his wrist. “Um… Maybe I’ll go check on him,” Zayn said after an awkward beat of silence. Usually, Louis would be the one to go see if Liam was okay in times like these, but that probably wasn’t the best idea when it seemed to be Louis that Liam was mad at.

“Okay. Come back soon, pumpkin,” Harry swooned. “We’ll be lost without you.” Zayn threw a sneaker at him before getting up to go search for their friend.

He found Liam in the kitchen, hands tightened up into fists as he glared at the glass of chocolate milk in front of him. Zayn took up a chair at the table next to him, but Liam didn’t even look up.

“You made that?” he asked, nodding towards the glass.

“It seemed like a chocolate milk kind of day,” Liam answered. He sounded annoyed, but not annoyed with Zayn. Liam didn’t even look at him, just continued to stare at the rim of his glass angrily. Maybe talking right now wasn’t the best idea. Liam seemed to need to let some of his anger diffuse before he could really discuss his feelings.

“Liam, do you-“

“It’s just…” Liam cut him off, his eyes softening the slightest bit. Zayn kept his mouth shut, waiting for his friend to collect his thoughts. He didn’t have much good to say anyway. “You know how you were feeling when Niall was with Barbra or whatever?” Liam asked. Zayn nodded. “I think… I think I feel that way with Louis and Harry.”

“With Louis and Harry?” Zayn repeated, confused. “What do you mean?”

Liam groaned and pushed his glass out of the way. He buried his head in his arms on the tabletop. “I dunno. It’s stupid. Like they’re not even dating, and they’re not… I mean, I don’t _think_ Louis likes Harry any more than he likes me, but like… that’s the frustrating bit, you know? Like he doesn’t like me any more than Harry; he might as well not like me at all.”

Zayn chewed on his bottom lip, awkwardly reaching out to rub Liam’s back a bit. “But like… I mean… It’s good that we don’t really have favorites, right? We’re all supposed to like each other equal. We’re _all_ best friends.”

Liam made a sniffling noise. “But I don’t like Louis equal. I love him the most, and I don’t want… I don’t want Harry kissing him, or cuddling with him, or anything. I wanna be the only one who gets to do that.”

Zayn cocked his head to the side. “Wait a minute… Liam…” Zayn’s eyes widened with realization. “You have a crush on Louis?”

“I don’t know,” Liam wailed. “You can’t talk about it with anyone. I’m only telling you because I know you have the same issue with Niall, but like… but like, it would make sense if I _did_ have a crush on him wouldn’t it?” Liam looked so scared and confused. Zayn’s heart just broke for him. He knew how scary it was to fall in love with your best friend, and he wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone in the world, least of all Liam. “Because we’re together all the time, and he makes me laugh, and… and all the girls say he’s cute, and sometimes I think I agree. Like I get butterflies? But normally I think that’s just because I’m happy to see him. Cause sometimes you get butterflies just when you’re excited, and usually when Louis is around, something exciting is gonna happen.”

Zayn scratched at the back of his head. “Well… Yeah. I dunno, maybe. But I don’t get butterflies when I look at Louis, I think that’s just you.”

“Or maybe it’s not just me. Maybe Harry gets them, too. Or maybe Louis gets them for Harry, and there’s no point in me sorting out my feelings at all,” he pointed out weakly, his voice wavering.

Zayn switched from rubbing Liam’s back to scratching it a little. He could see why Liam might think that Louis liked Harry. They were all over each other. But to be fair, Harry was really affectionate and flirty with _everybody._ No one was safe from Harry’s cheek kisses, just like no one was safe from Louis’s love bites. They were both touchy feely, and when they were together it seemed to escalate, but… but that was more a matter of boundaries versus a matter of feelings.

It was too much to sort through, and Zayn was starting to understand why Liam was so overwhelmed. “Is that why you were mean to Louis today? Because you think he likes Harry and Harry likes him back?” he asked.

Liam peeked up at him, and Zayn could tell he was blushing. “My sisters say that sexual tension does weird things to people.”

Zayn laughed a little. “That’s very true.”

He didn’t say anything else for a little bit, just let Liam relax. He knew it was up to Liam to figure out how he was feelings, and that would take time. Zayn couldn’t do anything to rush it along, even if he wished he could for Liam’s sake. For the moment, though, he was just excited that someone trusted him again.

It was a big thing for Liam to tell him about all of this, especially when he could have told any of the other boys. After lying about what happened at home, Zayn thought that no one would ever trust him again. It was nice to know that at least Liam still thought he was valuable. “You know what, Liam? I think that it’s gonna be okay,” he promised.

It took about fifteen minutes for Liam pull himself together and apologize to Louis. He blamed it on a bad day at school and not enough sleep. It was a lie, but Zayn wouldn’t dare call him out on it, not with all the lying Liam let him slip by with on a daily basis. His friends were just starting to trust him again, and Zayn wasn’t going to mess that up.

* * *

“You know what’s crazy, Niall?”

“No, what?”

“You’ve been in art classes with me since elementary school, and yet you still have absolutely no artistic abilities whatsoever,” Zayn teased. He was in rare form today. It wasn’t often that he was feeling sassy and confident enough to joke around like this, but it was always fun when he was.

He especially liked the rhythm he and Niall would fall into whenever they started teasing each other. “That’s funny, Zayn,” Niall said without laughing. “You wanna know what else is funny?”

“What?” Zayn asked, looking up at Niall. He was greeted with a face full of paint as Niall flicked the bristles of his paintbrush.

“Your face.”

“You’re a doofus,” Zayn complained.

Niall flashed him all 32 teeth. “You’re a spork.”

“You’re a doughnut.”

“You’re annoying.”

“You’re _both_ annoying,” announced their teacher from the other side of the room. She glared at them. “Both of you, quiet down and get back to work. The showcase is in three weeks, and Niall, you have next to nothing to put on display.”

Niall rolled his eyes but stopped talking. Zayn turned back to his work, delicately painting the finishing touches on the portrait of his mother he was working on. It wasn’t his idea of a project. Zayn was still torn between whether he loved his mother or hated her, and he didn’t like having to think about it while he painted her portrait. But their assignment had been to paint, sculpt, or draw a representation of a family member, and Zayn certainly wasn’t going to paint his father.

He was just slipping out of his good mood and into his typical, self-deprecating thoughts, when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

**_From Niall:_ **

_ur chalk egg_

****

**_From Zayn:_ **

_My chalk egg?_

****

**_From Niall:_ **

_*challenged_

_im trying 2 say ur stupid_

 

Zayn snickered and looked up at Niall. “If anyone’s dumb here, it’s you,” he whispered. Niall glared at him playfully.

“That’s not fair, I can’t control autocorrect. It acts on it’s own,” he complained. Zayn slipped his phone into his pocket and smirked at Niall.

“Yeah, but you can control your punctuation, your abbreviations, your grammar, your capitalization, your-“

“All right, that’s enough. Don’t you have a project to do?” Niall complained, looking absolutely adorable as a pink blush coated his cheeks. Zayn shrugged and glanced down at his painting.

“I suppose I do.” Niall stopped interrupting him after that, and Zayn worked on his project until the end of their session. But this time, he didn’t have to worry about getting anxious.

The second he started he started to get uncomfortable, Niall was there with a foot wrapped around his ankle. Their feet stayed tangled for the rest of the day, and Zayn swore it was the only thing keeping him breathing. He was so lucky to have Niall in his life. He didn’t know what he would do without him.

* * *

Zayn turned his doorknob slowly in the lock as he always did. If he was lucky, he could sneak up to his bedroom without his dad hearing him come in. If he was _really_ lucky, then his dad would be at work or out buying alcohol.

He had just reached the bottom of the stairs, when someone grabbed him from the back of the collar. Zayn choked a little bit as his father dragged him down from the stairs and threw him into the wall. Zayn winced as the back of his head struck one of the large, sharp hinges on their front door.

“Where were you?” his father demanded, his forearm pinning Zayn’s shoulders to the wall. He gulped.

“At school.”

“You’re late,” his father demanded, and Zayn crinkled his nose at the smell of alcohol on his father’s breath.

“There’s an art show tonight, remember? I told you. I had to stay after to put all my paintings up,” he explained. These situations weren’t as scary as they used to be. His father yelling at him like this had become just a normal conversation for Zayn. Of course, most conversations didn’t start so violently, but Zayn had bigger things to complain about.

That is, until he started to feel something warm and sticky start pooling at the nape of his neck, and he realized his head was bleeding. Shit. He knew he had hit the door hinge hard, but he hadn’t thought it would make his scalp start gushing blood.

“You’re not going to that,” his dad said definitively. Zayn’s eyes widened.

“But… but I told you I had to… had to go. I’ve been working all year,” Zayn replied, struggling to speak. He was starting to feel lightheaded. But as hard as talking was for him, his dad didn’t seem to appreciate his efforts. Instead of listening to what he had to say, his father merely slammed him into the wall again. Zayn felt his head snap back and hit the door hinge again, and he could feel the wound on the back of his head open up more.

“Art is for fags. You’re not going.”

“Dad… Dad…” Zayn can’t even process how his dad is talking to him. He’s sure he’s yelling. Or maybe he just sounds angry. He’s probably angry, he’s always angry, and drunk, and _mean_ , and Zayn’s _head hurts._ “Dad.”

“Go to you room.”

Zayn felt his dad shake him a few times, his neck snapping back and forth, but soon he was gone, and Zayn slinked off to his room. He crawled into bed, not caring if his pillow got bloody or even if he bled out right here and now. Life wasn’t worth all this.

He fell asleep fitfully. When he woke up, it was the next morning. Even if Zayn had wanted to disobey his father and go to the art show, he had slept through his chance. But it didn’t really matter. Zayn wasn’t talented anyway. He wasn’t smart or gifted; his show was a mess. Maybe having an abusive dad was for the best. At least Zayn wasn’t deluded into thinking he was more than a stupid, ugly, gay piece of shit.  


* * *

“Zayn, where were you last night?” Harry asked, concern written all over his face. “Actually, where were you during Physics? Were you late this morning?” he questioned as Zayn sat down at their lunch table. 

“Um… Well, I _was_ late for school. What do you mean where was I last night, though?” Zayn couldn’t tell if Harry was asking difficult questions, or if his head was still messed up from last night. He had slept through his alarm until his phone ran out of battery this morning, hence why he was late for school. Normally, Zayn was a jumpy sleeper when he was at home, so the fact that his alarm hadn’t even woken him up made him think that something was seriously wrong with his head.

“Where were you at your art show?” Harry clarified. “Because we were all there. Louis, Liam, me… We wanted to see yours and Niall’s show, but you weren’t there.”

“My… my art was,” Zayn replied, trying not to sound as confused as he felt. He didn’t know why his instinct was to hide everything that was wrong with him. This was Harry he was talking to. Harry: who could help with his head, who would take care of him. He trusted Harry.

So why was he trying to keep his wound hidden beneath his hair? Why was he trying to act normal so no one would know he needed help?

“Your art was, yes, but you weren’t,” Harry pointed out. Zayn didn’t say anything, but fortunately he didn’t have to. Liam, Louis, and Niall all took their customary seats at the table shortly after, lunches in hand. Liam and Louis sat on either side of Harry, and Niall took a seat right next to Zayn.

“Zayn, we missed you last night!” Louis exclaimed. He was still trying to pay Zayn extra attention, and while it was sweet, Zayn also found it a little stressful.

“That’s what we were just talking about,” Harry mused. It wasn’t often that Harry seemed skeptical. Usually, things flew right over his head. But he seemed to already know that something wasn’t quite right with Zayn, despite all of his efforts to keep cool and act normal.

“Yes,” Zayn answered carefully. His hair was starting to feel damp again, and he was worried that his scabs had reopened. If this had happened anywhere else on his body, Zayn wouldn’t need to feel so worried. It was just that head wounds bled a lot, and he was worried it would start to drip down his neck again like yesterday.

Niall looked up at him curiously. “Zayn, you have something on your collar.”

_Fuck_.

“Oh, well, hold on, let me go to the bathroom,” Zayn replied, face flushing with panic.

“Wait, Zayn, you- Oh my god.” Niall grabbed Zayn’s arm to keep him still and reached up with gentle, caring fingers to swipe across the back of Zayn’s neck. His fingertips came away red.

Zayn shut his eyes as all of his friends across the table gasped.

“Zayn? Zayn, you’re bleeding,” Niall said. He sounded overwhelmed. Zayn didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t even think straight. “Zayn, your head is _bleeding_. Like, a lot, you…” Niall trailed off, carefully reaching up to run his fingers through Zayn’s hair. The blond choked as he came across the gash buried beneath the longer hairs at the back of his head. At least he had managed to hide his cut for a while. “Oh, sweetheart… Sugar cube, _no_.”

Zayn couldn’t even look at Niall. He can hear how scared he is; he doesn’t need to see it on his friend’s face. He tried to stand up but Niall pulled him right back down.

“Don’t be silly, you can’t stand like this,” he said quietly.

Zayn wanted to argue that actually, he could stand like this. He had taken a shower, gotten dressed, and walked to school with his brain pounding against his skull. He certainly could stand, at least for a little while longer. However, he didn’t like how upset Niall sounded, and he certainly didn’t want to make matters worse.

“What… What happened?” Louis asked, eyes wide and terrified. Zayn shifted in his seat, not sure how to blow this one off. This was different then his other injuries. This was something he should have gone to the hospital for, something that any parent should have taken care of before letting their son go to school. But here Zayn was with a giant gouge taken out of his head and no explanation.

“Um… I… I…”

“If you say you fell and hit your head again, I’m going to lose it,” Harry interrupted. The words were angry, but his voice was nothing but sad and scared. His face was ashen, paler than Zayn had ever seen it. He didn’t know how to fix this. He wished he could _fix this._

“But I did. I did hit my head,” Zayn argued, his words sounding distant even to his own ears. Geez, how much did his dad fuck him up last night?

A couple tears slipped down Harry’s face, and Zayn had to turn and look away. “I don’t think that’s true though,” Harry replied. “I don’t think that’s true at all. I think that someone else hit your head.”

Zayn’s cheeks heated up. “You’re wrong.”

“Well, forgive me if I don’t trust you, Zayn. You’re always bloody or bruised. Someone is _hurting_ you, and you don’t ever talk about it, it’s like you don’t even care, like you think it’s normal or that you deserve it, and-“

“Harry, shut up.” Zayn never snaps at Harry, but he couldn’t help it. He was backing Zayn into a corner. It didn’t matter how hysterical Harry sounded, how high pitched and breathless his voice had grown. Zayn didn’t care about Niall’s shaking hands still knotted up in his hair. He didn’t care about how terrified Louis looked or how angry Liam seemed to be.

Frankly, not one of them deserved to feel anything about this. It was _Zayn’s_ life. He was the only one allowed to cry about it. None of his friends had to feel scared; Zayn was the one who didn’t feel safe in his own home. They didn’t get to feel mad. It was Zayn who had to face the brutal reality that –no- not all parents loved their kids. Some parents left. And some parents were violent. And Zayn didn’t know which was worse.

“Don’t talk to Harry that way,” Louis piped up. Per usual, he ran to Harry’s defense. Because no one ever cares about how Zayn is feeling, not even Zayn.

“Louis, you can shut the fuck up, too. You guys… you guys…” Zayn’s head was swimming. He was so angry, and his head hurt _so bad_. He tried to ignore the way his vision was tunneling and focus on how frustrated he felt. “You guys keep talking all this shit. Like to my face, behind my back… You don’t even _know_. You don’t know me at _all._ You know _nothing_ , and I’m… I’m… _Fuck_ ,” Zayn groaned putting his head down on the table. He was just so exhausted.

“Shit,” Liam swore, now that he could see the blood on the back of Zayn’s neck.

Louis’s voice was the only one to sound somewhat calm; although, the look on his face said otherwise. “We need to get a teacher. Or like… call an ambulance.”

“ _No_ ,” Zayn replied. His lungs felt too tight to breathe. “No, the hospital just asks questions, I can’t go there. They’ll… They’ll…”

Louis stared at Zayn for a moment, his eyes flashing between worried and furious. “They’ll do what, Zayn? They’ll do what?” Zayn didn’t answer, just kept his head on the table because he was too tired to lift it. Louis smacked the table, his voice raising an octave. “They’ll do _what,_ Zayn? Take you away from your abusive dad? Because I don’t see how that’s a bad thing.”

And there it is.

The secret that Zayn had been trying so desperately to hide; the secret his friends already knew. It was out in the open, and Louis couldn’t take it back. Zayn couldn’t sweep it under the rug. His friends knew everything his dad had done to him. They knew Zayn was a piece of trash.

And Zayn couldn’t handle it? He couldn’t handle the high emotions around him in the lunchroom. It doesn’t help that he’s hungry –he hasn’t eaten since lunch yesterday- and his head is bleeding profusely. Plus, he was pretty sure he was concussed. So he went back to sleep.

Zayn passed out on the lunch table, leaving his friends to pick up the pieces.

* * *

_“Zayn Malik, please report to the guidance office. Zayn Malik, please report to the guidance office.”_ The announcement cackled over the intercom system. A sense of dread pooled in the pit of Zayn’s stomach.

“That’s you,” Niall spoke up. Zayn rolled his head to the side and glared at him. 

Zayn wasn’t sure what happened between him falling asleep in the middle of their argument to now. All he knew was that he woke up in the nurses office with his head bandaged, and his four friends seated around him. Everyone had been avoiding eye contact: Zayn because he was mad and his friends because… well, he wasn’t sure.

“I thought I wasn’t ‘well enough to stand’. How am I supposed to get there?” he asked, throwing Niall’s words back at him. The nurse rolled over a wheelchair and looked at Zayn expectantly. He crinkled his nose. _“No,”_ he spat.

“Yes,” Niall replied, apparently taking on the role of caregiver. There were tearstains on his cheeks, and Zayn knew that Niall must feel like a mess inside. But that didn’t make Zayn feel like going easy on him. No one was listening to him. This was his life; he should be able to make all the decisions.

“ _No._ ”

“Zayn, just do it so we can all go home,” Louis chimed in. Zayn shot him a withering glare, but eventually he threw himself out of bed. He climbed into the wheelchair, arms crossed over his chest.

Niall offered to push Zayn to the guidance office. They kept silent on the ride over. Zayn was fuming. He didn’t know why he was so angry –no one had done anything wrong aside from his dad- but to be fair, he hadn’t ever let himself be mad about what was happening to him before. It was all bound to come out sometime, even if it wasn’t directed at the right people.

Niall stopped them outside the office. “Can you just look at me for a second?” Zayn huffed and met Niall’s eyes. “Whatever happens… You know we still love you, right? And I love you, too. We’re not gonna let you slip through our fingers.”

“Don’t talk to me,” Zayn replied, shoving Niall away. He rolled himself into the guidance office, and didn’t hide his displeasure when the secretary wheeled him into Mrs. Bugby’s office.

He was met not only by Mrs. Bugby, but also by Mrs. Horan, Mrs. Poulston –Louis’s mom- and his dad.

“No,” Zayn demanded, trying to stand up out of his wheelchair, but the secretary was too fast. She placed her hand on his chest to keep him seated, and Zayn couldn’t fight back because he still hadn’t eaten and his head still really hurt.

“We just want to talk to you and your father, Zayn,” Mrs. Bugby replied, and Zayn’s face flushed. He didn’t say anything, and his guidance counselor took his silence as an opportunity to finish speaking. “Now, Zayn, as you probably know, your friends are all very worried about you and what life is like at your home. So we are here to have a child protection conference and see what we all can do to keep you safe.”

“I don’t need to be kept safe. I’m fine,” Zayn complained. He knew it would probably be best to keep his mouth shut –he didn’t want to make his dad any more upset with him and he didn’t want to give away too much- but he couldn’t hold back his feelings any longer. “Why doesn’t anyone believe me? Everyone keeps talking about me, and my life, and what’s happening to me like they know what’s going on, but they _don’t_. Why can’t you people just leave me alone?”

“Because we’re worried about you, Zayn. It’s not typical for boys to come to school with untreated, bleeding skulls,” Mrs. Poulston replied, as blunt and sassy as her son. Zayn’s cheeks flamed red.

“Look, I don’t have anything to do with this. I don’t know why I’m here. So what if Zayn hurt his head, what does this have to do with me?” his dad asked, shamelessly pulling out a flask and taking a swig.

Mrs. Bugby ignored both of them. “Zayn, how about if you start by telling us what happened to your head?”

“I fell,” Zayn snapped.

“Okay,” Mrs. Bugby said kindly. “Well, then. Why do you think your friends are so worried about you? Because I don’t think one head injury is enough to result in a referral about child abuse.”

“I don’t know.”

“If I may,” interrupted Mrs. Horan. “Zayn is over at our house, spending time with my youngest boy, Niall, nearly every other day. And Niall is constantly mentioning bruises on Zayn’s wrists, arms, legs, face… It’s affecting my son’s sleep even, knowing his best friend has so many injuries with no explanation for any of them.”

“Bullshit,” his dad burped. Zayn was used to his dad being drunk during the day, but never to this extent. At least… not in front of other people.

“Zayn, what do you have to say about that,” Mrs. Bugby asked. Zayn didn’t answer for a moment. His face was starting to feel hot, and sweat was collecting near the edges of his face. He’d gone from being angry, to feeling absolutely terrified. He knew what this woman was doing. She was trying to get him away from his dad. And Mrs. Horan and Mrs. Poulston were here to try to find a new place for him to live, and his dad was here to defend himself and to prevent whatever decisions they were going to make about where Zayn should stay.

His heartbeat picked up, and Zayn was nearly certain he was going to throw up on his shoes. “I’m… I’m sorry, can I have a bucket?” he asked, his stomach twirling up in knots. Mrs. Horan passed him a trashcan and rubbed his back as he tried to keep calm. He scrubbed at his nose as he tried to come up with an answer. “I mean… I’m clumsy and stuff, but I’m not… I’m safe. I’m fine. No one has to worry about me.”

Mrs. Bugby looked at Zayn seriously for a moment. “It’s just that if there is something going on at home, Zayn, you don’t have to stay in that environment. We’re here to work together and find a new, safer place for you to stay.”

“I don’t want a safer place to stay. I just wanna live at home with my dad, and finish high school, and go to college, and get a job and… I dunno.” It’s all a lie. Zayn doesn’t want to live anywhere; he just wants to die.

The meeting goes on for hours, it feels, and the only one that listens to him is Mrs. Bugby. Although, even she doesn’t look like she trusts a word that comes out of Zayn’s mouth. He knew he was lying, but he still wished people would take him seriously.

It’s agreed upon that Zayn would spend three months at the Poulston’s house. Mrs. Bugby assured Zayn that after three months they would review his Child Protection Plan and see if he still needed it. If everything at home seemed fine, then he could go back to living with his father.

His dad didn’t seem to care that Zayn was leaving. In fact, he left the meeting early (probably because Mrs. Poulston and Mrs. Horan scoffed at everything he said and wouldn’t stop glaring at him).

At one point in his life, Zayn would be really upset about his father leaving, but right now he just felt dead.

He walked out of the office, despite how much his head hurt. He had been belittled enough for one day; he didn’t want to ride in a wheelchair again. His friends jumped out of their chairs in the guidance office lobby the second they saw him.

“Zayn, are you okay?”   
“What happened?”   
“Are you all right?”  
“You look like you’re about to cry.”

Zayn didn’t answer any of them, not even Niall. Instead, he just stared straight ahead. He didn’t talk to Louis as Mrs. Poulston drove him home. He didn’t look at either of them as they came into his house, watched him pack up his hand-me-downs from Liam, acknowledged the trash littering the floor and the dust on all the moldings, saw the billions of paintings Zayn had on his wall. This was such an invasion of privacy. Zayn was completely overwhelmed.

He had been stupid to make friends in the first place. He needed to be in survival mode, twenty-four seven. That meant no emotions, no relationships, no leaving Louis’s guest room except for when he had to eat or go to the bathroom. He was done.

He was _done_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okie dokie. So this was sort of the climax of this fic? The rest is gonna be about Zayn finding his place with his friends again, and Louis/Liam/Harry sorting themselves out, and Niall/Zayn getting together. So there we go.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I didn't edit this, and I don't even remember what I wrote. I just finished the last section up, and now I'm posting it. I just can't be bothered to write this, I guess. I don't really know. But it's 9000 words, so there you go. I'll leave notes at the end about how I plan on finishing this, but idk if I ever will.

Zayn was sixteen when he realized he was suicidal.

He had been lying in bed for two weeks, pretty much. School had ended, and now that it was summer, Zayn didn’t really see a point in getting up and making something of his life. He just didn’t care.

His mom had left him, his dad wanted him dead, and his friends had betrayed him. They’d ripped him away from the only parent he had left. Zayn was so painfully alone, and it was starting to look like he would always be that way.

All this time he had been working his way through school so he could go to college, get a job, and get out of this awful town. But what was the point? Bad things happened to Zayn; it didn’t matter where he lived. Bad things would always happen to him. Always. He was ugly, and stupid, and annoying, and he couldn’t do anything right.

So he might as well kill himself.

No one would miss him. His friends didn’t care about him the way Zayn thought they did, and Mrs. Poulston was only keeping him in her house out of obligation. His own mother wouldn’t know the difference; she probably wouldn’t even hear about the funeral and if she did, she wouldn’t come. His dad would be happy.

So why not kill himself? Why not kill himself and end all this pain and suffering? He hadn’t been beaten in weeks now that he lived with Louis, but his body still showed the signs of abuse. His arm was crooked after his dad broke it. So was his nose. His body was small both in height and weight from not eating enough. And even if he looked perfect, Zayn still would think he was awful, due to the verbal abuse he had suffered for so long.

So why not kill himself? _Why not kill himself?_

* * *

“Zayn, c’mon out, it’s dinner time. Mom says you have to eat,” Louis said, knocking on the door to the guest room. Or –really- it was Zayn’s room. It was where he spent nearly all his time, after all, and Zayn needed some place he could call his own after he’d been forcibly removed from his house. “Zayn… Zayn, _c’mon_.”

Instead of saying something back, Zayn threw a pillow at the door. He didn’t want to eat dinner. He didn’t want to do _anything_ ; he just wanted to lie here and rot.

“Fine. I’m getting mom,” Louis complained.

Zayn could hear his feet run down the hall and tramp down the stairs. He heaved out a sigh and sat up. He knew Mrs. Poulston wouldn’t allow him to skip dinner. If Louis was stubborn, then his mom was difficult beyond all reason. She was the most rigid, inflexible person Zayn had ever met, aside from his father. The only difference was that Mrs. Poulston was stubborn about things like making sure he ate and making sure he took showers.

He kicked off the covers and forced himself upright. When he opened the door to his room, he found himself face to face with Mrs. Poulston.

“Louis said you weren’t sure you would come downstairs,” she said, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. Zayn just sighed. “Okay… Well, it’s quesadilla night! You like quesadillas, right?”

“I guess,” Zayn mumbled. He didn’t feel hungry at all, but he followed Louis’s mom down the stairs anyway.

The table was set, and Zayn took his place at the foot. He didn’t say much of anything as food was passed around the table. His quesadilla looked warm and gooey, but nothing had been appetizing to Zayn lately.

“Zayn, the guys were gonna come over later. We were gonna watch Captain America? It’s like… in theaters, and we were all gonna go together, and like… you should come. Niall’s gonna be there. I know he’s been missing you,” Louis piped up halfway into the meal.

Zayn ran a hand through his hair but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have energy to go out and see a movie. And honestly? As much as he loved Niall, he hadn’t been missing him at all. He felt so wronged by the way his friends pulled him away from his home without his permission, by the way no one ever listened to him and what he wanted.

And what Zayn wanted was his _dad_. Or… the dad he had when he was seven, anyways. The dad who only fought with his mom about little things, like who was going to the dishes or what movie they should rent from Blockbuster. And come to think about it, he wanted his mom, too.

He wanted people who cared about him _so badly_. It was all he could focus on –how unlovable he was- and it made his heart beat faster just to think about.

Even here at the kitchen table, Zayn’s heart rate picked up as he thought about how desperately he wanted his parents back. He made a choking noise, and suddenly Louis’s hand was on his back. “Zayn… Zayn, are you okay? Are you okay?” Louis asked. Zayn didn’t answer. “Zayn, you’re crying.”

A shaky hand reached up to brush his cheek, and Zayn realized that –yes- he was crying. “S-sorry,” he answered, cheeks flushing. How embarrassing could he be? He was such a baby, crying for his mommy and daddy like a two-year-old.

“What’s wrong? Did I say something? What’s wrong?” Louis begged, clearly overwhelmed, but Zayn didn’t feel much like helping him. It was partially Louis’s fault he was in this mess in the first place. He could be at home right now, crying privately in his closet, but instead he was at the Poulston’s house where he never had any time to himself.

“C-can I go to my room?” he sputtered out. Maybe if he was crying, he’d be allowed to skip dinner.

Mrs. Poulston wrung her hands a little, clearly unnerved by the way Zayn was crying, but she obviously didn’t know what to do about it. “Take your plate with you,” she advised. Zayn was happy to listen if that meant getting out of there.

He grabbed his quesadilla and ducked away from Louis’s touch. He rushed up to his bedroom, refusing to listen to whatever Louis and his mom had to say about him after he left. All he wanted to do was throw himself on his bed.

* * *

Zayn shook under his covers as tears poured silently down his cheeks. He couldn't handle this anymore. He couldn't  _handle this anymore._

* * *

It had been twenty-four hours since Zayn had last left his room. He didn’t have to go to the bathroom, which was weird, but it wasn’t like he had eaten or drank anything in awhile. He was such a fucking mess, he couldn’t even feed himself properly, much less get out of his bed.

He couldn’t even be bothered to sigh when he heard someone tap on his door, despite how annoyed he was. It seemed like Louis had been knocking for him every ten minutes. When was he going to understand that Zayn didn’t want to talk to him? He’d been here for weeks. You’d think he would have gotten it by now.

“Hey, Zayn… All the guys are here. We’re gonna play Monopoly, you should come,” Louis spoke through the wall.

“Yeah, Zayn, come hang out with us.”

Zayn took in a sharp breath of air. That wasn’t Louis’s voice. None of the boys had ever come upstairs to check on him before –Mrs. Poulston had a strict ‘no boys but Louis upstairs’ policy- but Zayn knew that voice. That was _Niall’s_ voice. Niall. Who he hasn’t seen since school let out.

Zayn stood up on tired, underfed legs and padded over to the door. He unlocked it and took a deep breath to steel himself before cracking it open. The first thing he saw was a shock of blond hair.

“Zayn.” Niall practically cooed the word. All of a sudden, Zayn was beyond overwhelmed. It only take one word from Niall for Zayn to simultaneously feel every ounce of pain he’d been hiding from under the covers and feel completely comforted.

He needed a Horan hug, and he needed it now.

“Do you want me to step in?” Niall asked, seemingly sensing how upset Zayn was when he didn’t say anything.

Zayn nodded and shuffled to the side a little bit. “Only you, no one else,” he clarified, voice hoarse from disuse. Louis looked positively crestfallen, but Zayn chose to ignore him. Technically, Niall had dragged him away from his father just as much as any of the other boys –if not more so, considering Mrs. Horan was the one most adamant about getting him away from his dad during their meeting- but Niall meant so much more. Niall made him feel better; he made everything better.

Zayn was in love with Niall, and he could forgive him no matter what happened.

Niall slipped into the room and shut the door behind him. The blonde hesitated for a moment, toeing at the ground for a breath or two before he looked up. His blue eyes pierced through Zayn’s clouded brain. “Can I just… I just really need to hug you,” Niall gushed like the words came out without his permission.

“ _Please_ ,” Zayn replied. The one little word was enough for Niall to rush forward and sweep him up into a hug. His arms were tight, but it didn’t hurt. If anything, this was the most gingerly and gently Zayn had ever been held, despite how desperate Niall seemed to have his arms around him. Zayn’s eyes watered. “I’ve missed you so much,” he choked out after a moment or two. No wonder he’d been nothing but a useless lump, lately. How was he supposed to function when he didn’t have Niall?

“Well, that’s silly. That’s silly, I’ve been here this whole time,” Niall replied. His voice sounded thick, like he was holding back tears. Zayn wasn’t about to judge him; not when he was in the same boat.

“But I couldn’t… I mean… It’s just I was mad, though. Like… Niall, you told on my dad,” Zayn answered.

He was so conflicted. On the one hand, he needed Niall. He was _desperate_ for Niall. Over the years, Niall had always been the place where Zayn found safety. The second they separated was the second things got messy for Zayn. Like how when they used to walk home together holding hands together, his dad would start yelling the second Zayn let go. He didn’t want to let go anymore. He wanted Niall all the time.

But that didn’t change the fact that Niall had tattled. He had told social services that his dad was abusing him. Even though that was true, Zayn hadn’t been ready to admit it, and he certainly hadn’t been ready to move away from home. Maybe it was only for a couple months, but it still was a massive upheaval of Zayn’s life and it had certainly affected him emotionally.

“Because he was abusing you, Zayn,” Niall replied, getting to the thick of it. Zayn flushed bright red.

“No.”

Niall sighed. “Zayn-“

“ _No_ ,” Zayn said a little louder, refusing to admit it. If he admitted it, that would make it true, and Zayn wouldn’t be able to handle it if all of this was real. He was already thinking about killing himself, he didn’t need another reason to commit suicide. “He just… wasn’t nice.”

“Okay,” Niall responded easily, rubbing Zayn’s arm a little bit. “Okay, so he wasn’t nice. Aren’t you glad that you get to be away from him for a little bit? You liked staying over at our houses before. And I know for a fact that Louis loves you very much, and you’ve known his family since you were very little. Like… you knew him before you knew me. Aren’t you happy to be somewhere you know is safe and full of people who care about you and love you?”

Zayn’s cheeks only grew warmer. He shrunk away from Niall and crawled into bed. Even standing had been exhausting lately. “I just wanna go home.”

“But why? You used to _hate_ being home, Zayn. That’s why my mom let you sleep over on school nights. Even she knew you didn’t like it.”

“You don’t understand,” Zayn groaned.

The mattress dipped as Niall took a seat on its edge. He rubbed Zayn’s back a little bit, and he all but melted under the touch. He was still frustrated, but Niall was too soothing for his own good. “So how about you explain it, Zee? Just talk to me for once.” Zayn kept quiet for a moment. “It’s just you and me, you know? Anything you wanna talk about, now would be the time to do it.”

“It’s just… I dunno. He isn’t nice, but he’s my _dad_ ,” Zayn replied. “And it’s really good of him to put up with me because I’m so… I’m so awful.”

“Babe…” Niall tutted, switching from rubbing across Zayn’s shoulder blades to rubbing up and down his spine. “Why would you say that? Who thinks your awful?”

“ _He_ does,” Zayn yelped, frustrated. He turned to lie on his side and wrung his hands together. “He tells me all the time, you know? Like… He’s honest with me, unlike other parents, and he’s always telling me I’m such a waste of space, and that I’m stupid, and ugly, and he’s… he’s _right_.”

“That’s not right. You’re great, Zayn. He shouldn’t have ever said any of those things to you, none of them are true.” Niall seemed to be getting progressively more and more upset. There were tears slipping down his cheeks. Zayn didn’t know how to handle that. He was usually pretty good at taking care of Niall, but he never knew what to do when he was the reason his friends were sad. He tried to listen to what they needed, but no amount of tissues or hugs seemed to fix things whenever they talked about his home life. “Why do you want to live with him, when he’s _terrible to you?”_

“He’s my dad,” Zayn repeated, choked up. Niall’s tears were starting to get to him. “He gets frustrated with me and he isn’t nice to me, but at least he doesn’t hate me. At least he’s _here._ That’s more than I can say about my mom.”

Niall seemed to quiet at that. He didn’t say anything for a moment. Zayn was about to ask if something was wrong when Niall bent down to take off his shoes. The blond kicked his sneakers to the floor and peeled back the covers. He tucked himself in next to Zayn, spooning up behind him and holding Zayn around the middle.

“What did I do?” Zayn asked. He felt like something was wrong, even though Niall was holding him. He was confused.

“You never talk about your mom.”

Zayn bit his lip. “I mean… there’s not much to say. She’s gone.”

Niall huffed out a sigh, and Zayn could feel his breath on his shoulder. “Do you miss her?”

“I… No. She stopped caring about… about me. But I miss _having_ a mom, you know? Like… it would be so good to have someone to do my laundry or to have someone to make dinner. Cause my dad doesn’t, like, do that.”

“I wouldn’t think he would,” Niall muttered. Zayn didn’t have a response for that. He wasn’t used to Niall being angry with anyone, and Zayn certainly didn’t know how to defend his abusive, alcoholic father. His dad wasn’t a good person, and Zayn wished he could stop loving him, but he couldn’t. “I just don’t get it, Zayn, you have everything you want right here. Mrs. Poulston is happy to take care of you, and… and you have us. Like your friends. You have me. Why are you so angry about being here? Why are you so sad?”

Zayn didn’t know if it was Niall’s inflection –he sounded so confused and so _desperate_ \- or if it was the words themselves, but something broke in Zayn’s heart. He curled in on himself as a giant sob ripped through his body.

“I d-d-don’t _know_ ,” he wept, trying to scrub tears from his eyes as quickly as possible, but they still managed to escape and dampen his pillow. Niall’s hold around his middle just grew tighter, and Zayn could feel the other boy’s body from his head to his toes, they were so pressed together. Zayn was ashamed to admit that he leaned into Niall as he cried.

“You’re okay, Zayn. You’re okay.”

But he wasn’t okay. He was a hot mess, and that didn’t seem to be changing any time soon.

* * *

“Knock knock!” a familiar voice sing-songed. Zayn sat up in bed.

Niall poked his head into his bedroom, a giant smile on his face. He stepped in when he saw that Zayn was decent and didn’t seem to be angry about his sudden presence. He had a giant box in his hands.

“I thought that you might be getting pretty bored in here. Like… cabin fever and all that?” he asked. Zayn nodded, still a little dazed about having a visitor. He wasn’t used to people just stopping in. But he wasn’t complaining; he loved having Niall around. “Louis said that you have like… a million portraits in your room at home. I thought you might wanna paint some. Or like… draw. So. Here!” he said, spilling his box load all over the bed.

Tubes of paint, brushes, pallets, canvases, and other supplies poured out onto Zayn’s covers. The whole load must have cost a fortune. Zayn knew a lot of the brands and labels on the supplies, and they weren’t exactly cheap. He held up one of the tubes of paint. “Oil,” he mused. He had been hoping to try oil paints, but he never had the money to buy the things he needed.

“Yeah, is that good? I know we take art together, but I have no idea what you use, or what the difference between all this stuff is,” Niall replied sheepishly.

Zayn looked up at Niall, a giant smile emerging on his face. His massive grin matched the blonde’s for once. “This is _great_ ,” he replied emphatically. He hadn’t thought that anything could break through the depressive cloud that had been holding him down lately, but he stood corrected. Niall always knew just how to cheer him up. “Here, hold on a second, let me just get a real quick shower and some fresh clothes, and then maybe we can try some of this stuff together,” he offered.

Niall’s eyes brightened. Zayn figured it had something to do with the fact that he was willingly getting out of bed and taking care of himself, but if he thought too much about that he’d only get further depressed by how pathetic he was. (After all, lying in bed all the time didn’t make him a very productive person.)

He skedaddled to the shower and used all of ten minutes to wash his hair and body. He quick gave himself a shave at the mirror and threw on a fresh pair of jeans –hand-me-downs from Liam per usual- and a t-shirt that he stole from Harry back when Zayn was talking to him.

Geez, it had been _forever_ since he had seen Harry and Liam.

After brushing his teeth, Zayn met Niall on his bed. “Okay… Okay, this is really all for me? Because I’m going to freak out if this is all for me.”

“It’s all for you!” Niall chirped. Zayn clasped his hands together. “Why don’t you paint something, yeah? You wanna do a portrait? I’ll model for you!” Niall offered, and Zayn almost laughed.

Niall had already modeled for him so many times; he just didn’t know it. Any time Zayn thought Niall did something cute, he painted a picture of it.

“Alright, sure,” he agreed with a smirk. “Why don’t you… If you’d just rest your cheek on your hand?” he nudged Niall’s limbs until he was sitting cross-legged and sort of angling his head up at him. “Cool. And then look at me like I’ve just done something silly at art club.” Niall quirked an eyebrow, and Zayn let out a gush of air, his lips parting into a massive smile. “Perfect… perfect, okay. I’m just gonna do water color for now cause it’s easiest and it’ll go fast. I don’t want you posing for too long,” he explained, reaching under his bed to fish out his own meager supply of paint. He used Niall’s brushes and his paper though.

It was just that oil would have to wait until he had some time to fiddle around.

Zayn made quick work of painting Niall. He blocked in all this base layers rather quickly, and Niall laughed as his face barely started to take shape. “I look like a bunch of blobs,” he snorted, and Zayn nudged Niall’s shin with his toe.

“Quiet, you. I’m working over here.”

Niall was almost too easy to paint at this point. His face was continually changing year after year, but Zayn knew the basic structure better than he knew his own face. He knew Niall’s coloring and the paints he would need to create it. He knew how each line should be created from the bridge of Niall’s nose to the curve of his chin.

“I’m _bored_ ,” Niall whined.

“You’re the one who offered to model!” Zayn replied, leaning back on his pillows a little bit. He did his best to capture the blond highlights in Niall’s hair. They were brighter than usual due to the summer sun baking down on him. His skin was a little pink from spending so much time outside, especially his cheeks. He was rosy and warm. It was no wonder why Zayn had started smiling again within ten minutes of Niall walking in the room.

“Are you done yet?”

“Almost.”

“Are you done yet?”

“Almost”

“Are you _done_ yet?”

“ _Almost!_ ”

“Are you done yet?”

“Yes!” Zayn replied, flipping the portrait around so Niall could see. A cute little gasp escaped Niall’s mouth.

“Holy shit,” he replied. It was always weird to hear Niall swear, but in this case, Zayn figured it was a good thing. He had made Niall proud; he had impressed him. That was always what Zayn was aiming for. “Since when have you gotten so good at painting people?” Niall asked.

Zayn shrugged. “I dunno… I’ve had a lot of practice.” Which was true. Zayn had a lot of practice painting Niall, anyways. If you asked him to paint Louis, Liam, or Harry, it wouldn’t be nearly as beautiful. These were paints Zayn knew well and a muse that Zayn knew inside and out. It was destined to turn out right.

“It’s wet?” Niall asked, his fingers hovering above the paper Zayn had used. He nodded.

“Yeah, it’s wet… It’ll be dry soon. Then you can touch it.” Niall’s fingers recoiled.

“Okay,” he answered easily. If it wasn’t an insane thing to do, Zayn would think that Niall wanted to rub his face all of his portrait, what with how close Niall’s nose was to the paper and how desperately he wanted to touch it. “Can I keep it?”

“Sure. I mean… it’s your paper and all. You can have whatever you want.”

“Well, I don’t want to take it just because it’s like… my supplies, and I have a _right_ to take it,” Niall said uncertainly, meeting Zayn’s eye for the first time since getting his hands on his portrait.

Zayn smiled at him reassuringly. “Niall, you can always have whatever you want of mine, okay? You tell me what you need, and I’ll make it happen.” He didn’t know what had gotten into him today, but Zayn felt capable for once. He felt like he could do whatever Niall needed, even if that meant getting out of bed an running a marathon.

Niall just blushed and looked down at his toes. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied, and Zayn could hear the smirk in his voice.

He nudged his friend with his foot again. “Why don’t you lie down, huh? If you’ve got another hour or so to waste on a portrait, why don’t you let me do one of you snuggled in the sheets? It’s like… it’s fun to paint fabric with all it’s twists and turns and stuff.” Niall obeyed his request and Zayn set to work. If there was one thing worth living for, it was probably afternoons like these spent with Niall.

* * *

Zayn decided that today would be a good day to get back to making something of his life. He had spent the last few days messing around with the paint Niall had gotten him, and he had gotten bored. He was taking it as a good sign. If he was bored, that meant he wanted more out of life than what he could get just lying around in bed all day.

The first step towards getting his confidence back was eating breakfast. Zayn padded downstairs in his socks, stretching out his tired limbs, when he heard Louis’s voice coming from the kitchen.

“It’s like… I’m trying not to be annoyed or jealous? But I’m _so_ annoyed. And I’m _so_ jealous,” he admitted. Someone made a tsking sound.

“Louis, he loves you, too. He loves all of us equal, I’m sure. We’re _all_ best friends, remember?” That was Niall’s voice.

“Then why does he only let you in his room? Not us?” And that was Harry.

A sinking feeling settled in Zayn’s stomach. He knew he hadn’t been acknowledging his other friends lately, at least not like he had been acknowledging Niall. He hadn’t seen Liam or Harry in a month, and he only talked to Louis when he was forced to come down for meals.

He hadn’t thought about how that might affect his friends, though. They probably felt awful. Zayn knew that he would be a mess if one of his friends didn’t want to see him anymore. Zayn hadn’t even told them why he was so upset, really. He just shut them out cause he was scared, but that had been wrong, and now he could hear tears in Harry’s voice.

“I dunno… You guys could get him a present, maybe. That seemed to make him really happy. I think, like… I think he maybe needs to be reminded that you guys care about him after everything that happened at school. He kept saying we weren’t listening to him, you know?”

“Not all of us have like… a hundred dollars to drop on art supplies, Niall,” Liam whined. Zayn hovered by the door of the kitchen and peaked in. All the boys were in pajamas, and Zayn figured that they were just waking up from a sleepover. No one had invited Zayn, but he was sure that was because they figured he wouldn’t come.

“That’s not fair. I earned that money, that was my allowance.”

“Pssh, more like your life savings,” Louis grumbled.

“He needed something to cheer him up!”

“And look where he ended up? Still depressed as ever, still moody as ever, and still ignoring us as much as ever.”

Zayn cleared his throat and four sets of eyes turned to look at him in the doorway. He flushed bright red. He felt awful. How did he even begin to apologize for something like this?

He blinked quickly to avoid tears rolling down his cheeks, and he hugged around his middle. “Um… I couldn’t help but overhear, and I’m… I’m really sorry, I was just… upset, and I’m… I was just gonna get some fruit loops and maybe try watching TV today, but I can leave? I don’t want to make you mad. I’m really sorry about everything, and like… I’m just really sorry,” he sputtered. He hiccupped a little, and stomped his foot once in frustration. He was so sick of crying.

“Oh, Zayn, don’t be sorry. Stay, get your fruit loops,” Liam replied, his face crumbling as he and Zayn made eye contact for the first time in weeks. Zayn nodded his head awkwardly and went to the cupboard. He poured himself a bowl –still crying- and everyone watched as he sorted himself out.

He was going to take a seat next to Niall, but Harry pulled him into his lap. His nose buried into Zayn’s shoulder. “Don’t cry, okay? Don’t cry, cause then I’ll cry, and I really missed you, and it’s really good to see you, and we should be smiling, not crying,” Harry said wetly. Zayn winced as his shirt grew damp with snot and tears. He tangled his fingers up in Harry’s hair as he ate his cereal.

“You guys are both hot messes,” Niall teased, poking both Harry and Zayn’s legs with his spoon.

“Shut up. You were a hot mess, like… the whole _time_ you didn’t get to see Zayn,” Harry complained, and Niall immediately flushed bright red. If Zayn wanted to question his blush, he wouldn’t have had the chance. Harry’s arms wrapped around his middle so tight, he could hardly breathe.

“You were gonna watch TV, Zayn?” Liam asked, interrupting. “Do you think we could watch with you?”

“Sure,” Zayn choked out, wiggling in Harry’s arms to get him to loosen up a little bit.

Nothing was really fixed. Zayn still felt terrible about not getting to live with his dad, and he still didn’t have much of a will to do anything but lie around. However, at least he wasn’t going it alone anymore. Reaching out to his friends was a good first step.

* * *

Zayn hadn’t spent his summer doing much more than watching movies and playing video games with his friends. Mostly, he was counting down the days until he got to live with his dad again. Apparently, a social worker had set up an interview with his dad, but his father had arrived drunk.

His dad had been incoherent. Needless to say, he didn’t make much of a case for why Zayn should be in his custody again, and their case would be revisited in another three months.

In the mean time, Zayn still had school. He was a junior, after all. College was something he needed to start thinking about, and he wouldn’t be accepted anywhere if he tried to get by with the same crappy grades as last year.

Of course, just because Zayn woke up and went to class, that didn’t mean he was doing well. It was exhausting to do homework when he felt so depressed and anxious, and it was hard to pay attention when he had so many problems at home occupying his thoughts.

“How are you doing, Zayn? You feeling okay?” Louis asked. Zayn looked up from his locker, realizing how badly he had been spacing out.

“Oh, um… yes. I just couldn’t remember what book I needed.”

“You have history next!” Louis chirped, reaching into Zayn’s locker for him and passing him the proper textbook. Zayn took it with a grateful smile and put it in his book bag. Louis was always stopping by his locker. He was always there between fourth and fifth period to help Zayn with his things.

Of course, Louis wasn’t the only one who had been supportive lately. It seemed like all the guys were doing their best to check up on him, help him with classes, and make sure he was comfortable. Zayn didn’t know if it was helping him with school any, but he did know it was helping him feel like someone cared. They were all so attentive. As embarrassed as Zayn was for needing all this focus, he couldn’t help but lap it up.

“Here, let me walk you to biology,” Louis offered, linking arms with Zayn and walking him to his classroom. Zayn let it happen. He was pretty sure Louis’s class was in the opposite direction, but he wasn’t going to stop him. As he neared the classroom, an excited squeal reached his ears.

“Zayn!” Harry called, waving from their lab table in the back of the room. It apparently didn’t matter how many times Zayn showed up for class, Harry would always be surprised and excited to see him.

“Have a good class!” Louis chirped from his side, sending him into the room with a butt smack. Zayn watched him scurry away before loping over to Harry. He took a seat next to his friend.

“Ready for bio?” Harry asked. His hair bounced as he turned to look at Zayn properly.

“Eh.”

“C’mon, we got this,” Harry promised, holding his hand out for a high-five. Zayn reciprocated. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Harry and his friends had his back at school.

Llll

The boys looked up from their lunches, startled, when a pair of unfamiliar hands smacked down on the tabletop. Zayn jumped especially high.

“Hey, you guys are single right?”

Zayn furrowed his eyebrows up the girl who had so abruptly interrupted their lunch. She was pretty. He recognized her as someone who tended to hang out with the cheerleaders and all the other popular, pretty people in his high school. Zayn was half sure her name was Melanie, but he didn’t want to call her that and get it wrong.

“Um, I suppose we all are,” Harry replied, and Melanie rudely stuck her hand in his best friend’s face.

“Not you. These two. Zayn and Liam,” she said, nodding her head towards the pair. Zayn put a hand on his chest as if to ask ‘me?’ and Liam looked equally confused. The girl nodded. “Yeah, you guys. My friends have like… these horrible, massive crushes on both of you, and they wanted to know if you’d be interested in a double date.”

“Why didn’t they come over and ask?” Niall questioned, his face screwed up with confusion.

Melanie sighed like Niall was the stupidest person she had ever talked to, and Zayn scooted closer to Niall as if to protect him. “Because they were nervous, and I’m not. Look, do you guys wanna get hooked up with two cheerleaders or not?”

Louis was the only one who brightened at the question. “Liam! Zayn! You guys should totally do it! How cool would that be?!” he asked excitedly.

Liam turned eight shades of pink. “I dunno… I’m trying to hold out for the right person, you know? Someone I really like,” he hinted, looking up at Louis desperately. It was like he was pleading Louis to say something contrary, to tell this girl to go away, to sweep Liam up possessively… Anything but pair him up with a stranger. Zayn could only imagine how he’d be looking at Niall if the blond tried to hook him up with some strange girl.

“Listen,” Melanie interrupted. “There’s really no good reason to say no. You guys are all weirdos who, like, never talk to anyone but each other, and never come to parties, and never do anything, like, good or important. But. _But_. Two of you happen to be hot,” she explained. “This is your chance.”

“Niall’s hot.”  
“Louis’s hot.”  
“Harry’s hot,” Zayn, Liam, and Louis all said respectively.

Zayn could practically see Liam’s face fall a little further when Louis’s first instinct was to protect Harry. Zayn didn’t think Louis liked Harry in that way, but he could see why Liam would.

“Are you in or not?” Melanie asked.

Louis turned to Liam. “Do it, Liam. You and Zayn would be like… the talk of the whole school! Maybe you’ll even get a new girlfriend! Maybe this girl will be like… the _one_ , or whatever.”

Liam looked like he was about to cry. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked down at the tabletop. “I mean… I guess… Sure. I’ll go,” he answered. He looked up at Zayn hopefully. “Will you come, too?”

Zayn bit his bottom lip. He’d never really been interested in girls, but he had always wanted to be. It would make all this so much easier. Maybe a girlfriend would help him get over Niall. “Do you think I should do it?” he asked the blonde.

Niall stared at him calculatingly for a moment, and Zayn couldn’t read his expression. “Sure,” Niall said after a long pause, shrugging his shoulders. Disappointment swept over Zayn.

“Okay, I’m in.”

“Great! Here’s my friends’ numbers,” Melanie said, slipping Liam and Zayn each a separate piece of paper. “They’re free on Friday night at seven. You guys have to pick them up,” she ordered before leaving.

Zayn and Liam locked eyes. This was either going to be the best or the worst night of their lives.

* * *

Liam played nervously with his collar as drove towards the girls’ house. He and Zayn were both in the car, driving to where their double dates were staying. Liam seemed terrified. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he muttered. “I can’t believe Louis… he just… We don’t even _know_ these girls, Zayn. Why are we doing this?”

“Dunno,” Zayn answered, fussing with his own collar because it seemed like the thing to do. He didn’t look half as nice as Liam did. He was borrowing one of Louis’s shirts because he was the smallest of his friends, but it still seemed to hang off of him. “This might be a good way to like, move on, you know? From certain people?” he mentioned, not trying to be too obvious. But things were clearly going nowhere with Niall and Louis. It was about time they stopped thinking about their friends as anything more than that: just friends.

“I… Yeah, you’re right,” Liam sighed. Zayn could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “At least these girls actually like us. That’s more than I can say about Louis.”

“Who has who again?”

“You have Waneeza and I have Amy,” Liam answered right as he pulled into one of the girls’ driveway. Zayn took a deep breath. He turned to look at Liam who looked frozen with his hand on the keys. If Zayn didn’t know any better, he’d think that Liam was debating whether he should turn the car off and go to the door, or floor the car in reverse and get the hell out of there.

“It’s only one night, right? Like, just a few hours. You can put up with anything for a few hours,” Zayn said knowingly. He’d gone through hell at home, and he knew full well what his body could tolerate. He wasn’t scared of an awkward evening. It would be easier than any of the abuse he had suffered.

“One night,” Liam repeated. He finally turned off the engine and got out of the car. Zayn followed his lead and walked up to the front door with his best friend. “Can you ring the doorbell?”

Zayn chuckled. “Yeah, I’ll do it,” he said, pressing the button. He nudged Liam lightly in the ribs. “Stop being such a scaredy-cat.”

Liam gave him a sheepish smile, and jumped when the door opened.

Amy’s mom stood at the door. She eyed Zayn and Liam critically. Despite being the brave one earlier, Zayn couldn’t help but shrink under her gaze. “You two must be here for Amy and her friend,” she said. They nodded, and Amy’s mom opened the door up wider to let them in. “Girls! Your dates are here!” she shouted up the stairs.

Amy and Waneeza stepped out onto the balcony at the top of the stairs. Zayn turned to look at Liam, only to notice the disconcerted look on his face. Zayn felt pretty uncomfortable, too. The girls were dressed in crop tops and mini skirts, and it was weird to see so much of a stranger’s body on the first date. All of a sudden, Zayn was worried that these girls expected more than just a night out for dinner and a movie.

“Hey,” Waneeza said, breaking the silence and walking down the stairs. She was somewhat clumsy in her too high heels. Amy didn’t say anything in greeting, just sort of stuck her nose up and followed her friend.

“Hi,” Zayn said. He elbowed Liam in the side.

“Oh, right, hi,” he followed up. This was so awkward. Why did these girls even want to go out with them in the first place? They didn’t even _know_ each other.

There was an unbearably long awkward pause where Amy’s mom just stared at them with an amused smile on her face. Zayn could feel his skin prickle. This had been a terrible idea; they had nothing to talk about.

“Well,” Amy said, sounding a little annoyed. “Tell us we look nice and take us to your car already,” she demanded.

“You look beautiful,” Liam promised.

Zayn tried not to laugh at his friend. Liam was definitely a people pleaser, and he always did what he was told immediately, even when it was a girl from school who he barely knew. Instead of giggling at him, though, Zayn turned to Waneeza. “You look great, too. Liam’s car is out in the driveway.”

They walked out to the car after Amy promised her mom she’d be home by eleven. Zayn sat in the back with Waneeza and Amy sat in the passenger seat. “So we thought we’d watch a movie and go out to dinner after or before, or… well, whatever you girls want.”

“Actually, I was hoping we could go to the drive in. They’re playing _Jaws_ ,” Amy said. The words alone made her sound polite, but her tone seemed cranky. Zayn couldn’t blame her. He and Liam hadn’t been making a good impression so far. Maybe their friend –Melanie, or whatever- had been right. Maybe they _didn’t_ talk to anyone besides each other because Zayn certainly didn’t know how to make small talk with these girls, and Liam didn’t seem to know either.

“Sure,” Liam agreed. And that was all that was said for the rest of the car ride.

Zayn’s chest constricted more and more as the silence continued. It was so humiliatingly awkward, and it just got worse the longer no one said anything. But Zayn didn’t know what to say. “So, um… Do you guys like popcorn at movies?” he asked as Liam parked the car in the drive in. He was proud of himself for thinking of _something_.

“Yeah,” Waneeza replied.

“I guess,” Amy said.

“Oh,” Zayn answered. Honestly, slitting his throat might be a better option than staying in this car any longer. He almost wished Liam would have turned the car into a highway guardrail when he had the chance.

“I’m going to go get our tickets,” Liam said, rolling down the car windows before turning off the engine. Zayn had been jealous of Liam multiple times in his life, but he’d never been more envious of his friend as he watched him get out of the car.

“Wait… Aren’t you gonna get our tickets?” Waneeza asked Zayn, gesturing between the two of them.

Zayn flushed. “Um… Actually, Liam is going to buy everyone’s ticket, I think.”

Amy turned around, peering at Zayn over the shoulder of the passenger seat. He hated the judgmental look she was giving him. “So it’s true? You really are poor?” she asked. Waneeza at least had the gall to look embarrassed.

 _“Amy_ ,” she hissed, clearly upset.

Zayn’s blush turned even darker. “Well, like… I dunno, I guess,” he replied, wishing he could bury his head in the sand. This was the worst date of his life.

“See, I _told you_ , Waneeza,” Amy said, glaring at her friend. Waneeza didn’t say anything, just turned to stare out the window. She seemed embarrassed, but Zayn didn’t really understand why. He was the one who had just been humiliated.

Liam came back with popcorn. He passed one bag to Amy and the other bag back to Zayn. He seemed to notice that the car had become a different kind of tense in his absence, but the movie previews started before he could question it. At least they had something to fill the silence.

* * *

Two uncomfortably silent hours later, Liam and Zayn were pulling out of Amy and Waneeza’s driveway after dropping them off. All of a sudden, Liam slammed the breaks. Zayn looked over, confused and scared as he saw Liam’s shoulders shaking and his head on the steering wheel. “Liam, are you-“

“Oh. My. _God_ ,” Liam wailed. He lifted his head from the wheel and Zayn realized he was laughing, not crying. “That was the _worst double date_ in the history of the world. The absolute _worst one_ ,” he said in hysterics. At least he was smiling.

Zayn cracked a grin at his best friend. “Yeah… yeah, that was pretty awful.”

“Just _pretty_ awful? How did everyone manage to go _so long_ without talking? I think we all only managed, like… twelve words total,” he gasped, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Zayn ran a hand over his head. Liam’s laughter was infections, and he couldn’t help but laugh a bit as well.

“The guys are going to feel so guilty for pushing us into that,” he replied, thinking of how Louis poked and prodded Liam into going, and how Niall had just stood back and let it happen. Liam’s laughter faded out a bit.

“Ah… Yeah. Louis is the worst sometimes.”

Zayn looked out the window for a minute. Liam put the car in gear again and finished pulling out of the driveway and headed home. “You know… After everything, I think I’m only _more_ convinced that I only want Niall now. I’m never doing that again.”

“Me neither,” Liam agreed, biting his bottom lip. “Except, I’m pretty sure if we don’t try to date other people, we’re destined to be alone for the rest of our lives. Like… Louis is never going to want me.” Zayn offered him a weak smile.

“At least we can be sad sacks together?”

Liam laughed again, albeit somewhat sadly, and held his hand out for a fist bump. “Better to be pathetic together than pathetic alone.”

* * *

“F for _fuck me_ ,” Zayn muttered under his breath, frustrated as he got yet another failed test back. Harry turned around in his seat to look at him, concern obvious in his face.

“You didn’t do well?” he asked. Zayn just sighed. He could see from here that Harry had gotten an A on his chemistry test; meanwhile, Zayn hadn’t even managed a forty percent.

He just… he hadn’t had any focus lately, and he certainly hadn’t had any drive. It was hard to see the point in schoolwork when he could always just kill himself and never have to think about the future. Plus, getting such crappy grades all the time only served to make him feel stupider and stupider, and there was no point on something so dumb and moronic walking the face of the earth. Maybe he really should die.

“It’s fine, Harry,” he replied. Harry didn’t look so sure. “Really, it’s fine. It’s just… hard living with the Tomlinson’s. I just want to go home. I miss my house. I think once I’m back at home things will get better,” he promised. _People used their home lives as an excuse for doing poorly in school, right? That was a valid excuse, right?_

Harry nodded, curls bouncing. “Yeah… Okay. Just let me know if you need help with anything, all right? Like… I don’t want you to fail just because things are messy outside of school and stuff, you know?”

Zayn nodded. Up front, his teacher got the next lesson started, but Zayn didn’t pay attention. He stared down at his failed test as tears welled up in his eyes. He finally understood why his dad beat him so often. He was such a shitty person. He couldn’t even get _half_ the questions right; how did he expect to function in the real world?

Zayn took in a shaky breath as he tried not to cry. Never before had he so adamantly wanted to kill himself before, but all of a sudden he could really and truly see himself taking a few too many pills or cutting his arms up far too deep. He obviously wasn’t cut out to be a human being, so what was the point in pretending?

Zayn’s breath got quicker and quicker and his body felt heavier and heavier. He did nothing but waste space, steal air, and cause trouble. He was the most useless person on the planet; it was no wonder his own dad didn’t want him. It was no wonder that Niall didn’t love him.

Zayn raised his hand. “Can I go to the bathroom?” he asked. Everyone turned to look at Zayn, hearing the waver in his voice.

The teacher arched an eyebrow. “Sure,” she responded, holding out a hall pass for Zayn to take.

He rushed to the front of the room to take it. The second it was in his hand, he ran as fast as he could to the bathroom, his stomach tossing and turning. Zayn tasted bile in the back of his throat, and before he knew it, he was vomiting into the toilet. Tears brewed in his eyes.

One of these days he was going to do it. He was going to kill himself. He had to.

* * *

“Are you sure you want to do this, Zayn?” Niall asked, holding one of Zayn’s bigger boxes in his long, lean arms. Zayn looked up at his house, excitement and fear both blooming in his heart.

“Yes,” he answered definitively. His dad was the only family he had left, and it had killed him to be separated from his father for so long. Honestly, Zayn even missed the abuse. He missed having someone tell him what to do and make sure he was punished properly for his actions.

Zayn wasn’t a masochist, but he knew he deserved to suffer for being such an awful, disgusting person.

“You heard the man, lads. Let’s get this show on the road,” Louis said, grabbing one of the boxes out of the trunk of his mom’s car. All the boys had gotten up early on a Saturday to help move Zayn back into his house. Social services had finally allowed him to move back home, and Zayn didn’t want to waste any time. Plus, his dad usually had the early morning shift at the convenience store down the road, so he probably wouldn’t be home for a few hours. That gave Zayn and his friends enough time to unpack uninterrupted. Louis stopped at Zayn’s side before he even stepped on Zayn’s front yard with his things. “You are _absolutely_ sure, right? You really think this is a good idea?”

“Yes,” Zayn answered again. He didn’t understand why he had to prove it so many times. He’d been talking about how excited he was to go home for months now.

“It’s just that we can take all your stuff and move it back to the Tomlinson’s right now, you know?” Liam asked. “Or to my house, or Harry’s house, or Niall’s house. You don’t _have_ to live here.”

“But I _want_ to live here. Wouldn’t you guys want to live with your dad?”

“Not if he hit me,” Niall said, face screwed up, and Zayn _wished_ he would stop doing that. He hated how bluntly Niall spoke about it. Zayn hated acknowledging that his father was abusive, but the blond seemed determined to make him face that reality.

“He doesn’t hit me.”

“Zayn-“

“You guys said you would help me move in,” Zayn interrupted. “Are you going to or not?”

His friends shared a look with each other. Zayn hated when they did that; he hated feeling like he was on the outside. “We’ll help you, Zayn,” Harry eventually spoke up. He grabbed Zayn’s duffle bag. If there was one thing that was nice about living with the Tomlinsons, it was all the free stuff. He had never had more toiletries, clothes, and shoes in his life. Plus, with all the art supplies Niall gave him, Zayn actually felt like he _owned_ things. He never felt like he had anything of his own before. He had _possessions_.

Zayn opened the door to his house, and sighed as he saw what a mess it had become. He could see into the kitchen, and it was an absolute pigsty. He was pretty sure his dad hadn’t done dishes since he left. The floor was disgusting in the front hall. His dad had tracked in mud, dead leaves, and grass. The living room was absolutely revolting with beer cans all over the floor and a stain on the wall that was probably from when his dad was too drunk to remember to pee in the toilet.

Everything was dusty and smelly, and he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that his friends were walking in on such a disaster.

“Zayn, are you really, really, _really_ sure you want to live here?” Niall asked again. Zayn turned to look at him. He looked ashen, and guilt welled up in Zayn’s chest. Maybe he should have moved in by himself.

“I’m usually the one who does all the cleaning,” he said with a shrug, trying to blow it off.

His friends didn’t say anything. Zayn didn’t need them to speak to guess what they’re thinking. He lead them up through the house, noticing the dishes piled in the sink and the mold growing around the bathtub ledge as they carried his things up to his room.

Some of Zayn’s art has been destroyed in his absence. Niall made a choking noise behind him. “You’re… you’re an interesting subject matter,” Zayn mumbled, as if that could possibly excuse the hundreds of paintings he had on his walls, all of the same set of blue eyes and blond hair.

Niall squeaked, his eyes wide and terrified. Zayn watched as Louis wrapped an arm around Niall’s waist and Harry patted his hair. He was so obviously shaken, and Zayn knew it was all his fault.

“Look, Niall-“

“You can’t _live here_ , Zayn. This is _crazy,_ this is where a _crazy person lives_. Why can’t you see that you’re torturing yourself by coming back here?” Niall demanded. Zayn flushed and looked to the other boys for help. Their eyes were all bolted to the floor, as if they were trying to stay out of it.

“I think it’s best if maybe you guys leave,” Zayn said gently. He was tired of being angry at his friends for caring. Just because he didn’t care about what happened to him, that didn’t mean Harry, Liam, Louis, and Niall didn’t.

“Not unless you come with us,” Niall said firmly.

“No, Niall… Let’s just go,” Louis interrupted. Zayn relaxed as, _finally,_ someone came to his aid. Louis rubbed Niall’s back but looked over at Zayn. “You know my house is always open to you, okay? You can come back whenever you want.”

“You can stay with me, too,” Harry promised, voice hoarse. Zayn’s shoulders tensed up. It was like they were sending him off to war or something.

“Me, three,” Liam tagged on weakly.

Niall just glared, and not just at Zayn. He glared at all of them before turning on his heel and stomping out of the house. Zayn let out a sigh and glanced over at his closet, feeling like he might need to lock himself up for a bit before he started unpacking.

“You’re okay on your own, Zayn?” Harry asked, eyeing him warily as if he might snap at any moment. Zayn nodded. “Okay… Okay, well, we’ll see ourselves out then. See you at school tomorrow, alright?”

“Alright,” Zayn whispered.

The second his friends left, Zayn locked himself up in his closet and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next chapter would be about Zayn attempting suicide, him getting taken away officially from his dad's house, and then him and Niall probably kissing with Niall being like "We'll be together when you start feeling better, okay? Let's focus on getting you better first and then we'll worry about us."
> 
> So I may or may not write it. I just have lost my muse kind of. We'll see.

**Author's Note:**

> So this chapter was a bit short, a bit quickly paced, and had a bit of a young casual style of writing with not as many introspective or sophisticated themes as I am used to, but that's because Zayn is just eight, and eight-year-olds are young, so my writing is young... Sorry if their age was a little imbalanced to their actions, though, it's been awhile since I've written about kids. Also, if you're muslim, I'm sorry. Zayn knows about as much about it all as I do, obviously! Which isn't much.


End file.
